Between Love and Hate
by lege et lacrima
Summary: In which Percy Weasley forgets everything he's ever learnt, with the help of the Ministry of Magic, 200 languages and Oliver Wood. Sequel to "Ruled by Secrecy". - Percy/Oliver - Rated for safety - Legs - CURRENTLY ON HIATUS sorry
1. Family, Friends, Flatmate

THIS IS IT, GUYS. The sequel to "Ruled by Secrecy"! If you haven't read it, please go and do so forthwith. Much of this will not make sense otherwise. I'll not beat around the bush... I'd just like to let everyone who followed RBS with so much love know that I won't be doing the whole thanking thing this time round - I will be counting on you to know that you are thanked in the utmost because I'm a bit annoyed by the unrealistic word-count that RBS has... about 12k of it is notes and thanks.

THIS IS FOR everyone who read RBS in its heyday; I love each and every one of you.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter and characters, nor do I own a fair chunk of this plot. (Isolde and Guillame Bowman are mine, though. As are Jack, Daffyd and Thom - the three other Gryffindor kids.)

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1. Forsaken Family, Former Friends and a Fruity Flatmate

_As soon as the Sorting Hat fell upon is head, Percy Weasley could feel it pondering his destiny. The feeling that the Hat was talking to him... well, it wasn't exactly something he could describe. It was as though their consciousnesses suddenly meshed. Percy could feel its every thought. He didn't hear - he felt - the Hat's first words. Or thoughts._

_"Definitely not a Hufflepuff, then," it said._

_Percy's eyes widened the moment he heard those words run through his head. His older brothers, Bill and Charlie, both in Gryffindor, had said very similar things to him on the Hogwarts Express: "You'd better be in Gryffindor, kid" Bill had said. Charlie had laughed, and said "well, he's not likely to be in _Hufflepuff_, is he?"_

_He was glad the hat fell over his eyes - the whole hall wouldn't be able to see the astonishment written all over his face._

_"You _could_ be in Slytherin," the Hat pondered, "you're certainly ambitious."_

_But Percy willed with all his might that the Hat wouldn't put him in the house most despised by his whole family, from what he'd heard._

_And as though it had heard him, it said "no, that won't do. That just leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. You're a smart boy, highly intelligent. But you're also brave, and strong-willed."_

_Percy wondered where the Hat was getting all his information from. As far as he was concerned, he was merely a novice in the world he was about to enter - highly intelligent was _so_ presumptuous. And _brave_? Sitting there, the whole school staring at him, he felt anything but._

_"My whole family are Gryffindors," he thought to himself._

_"Oh, they are, are they?" said the Hat. Percy tried to restrain himself from jumping. It had _answered_ him! "And I suppose you don't want to upset them, do you?" it continued._

_"Family is everything," Percy thought._

_The next thing he heard was the word "GRYFFINDOR!" ringing out across the Great Hall in the Hat's unmistakeable voice. It was wrenched off his head, and in a daze he went to sit by his brothers._

_"Jolly good, Percy," Charlie said, slapping him on the back, as Professor McGonnagal read out the name "Wood, Oliver"._

_Percy squirmed. He noticed the three new Gryffindor boys who had been sorted before him talking excitedly amongst themselves. One was short, blonde and almost cherub-like, one was almost as tall as Percy and had lank brown hair around his face, and the other had a pointed face, spikey black hair and a strong Welsh accent._

_He thought he might go over and introduce himself, but then they started talking to the new Gryffindor girls, and Percy felt that his moment had passed._

_Almost as soon as the Hat had fallen on Oliver Wood's head, it cried "GRYFFINDOR!", and before it's shout had stopped echoing, Oliver had taken a seat at the table, across from Percy._

_"Hello," he said brightly as soon as Professor Dumbledore's speech was over, sticking his hand out, "I'm Oliver Wood, future keeper for the English National Quidditch Team. What was your name again? I heard it in the Sorting, but it's just slipped my mind."_

_Percy was slightly taken aback by Oliver's forwardness and sheer energy. He was rather exhausted after his row across the lake._

_"I, uh... Percy. Percy Weasley," he said. He couldn't even think of anything witty to say as a rejoinder to Oliver's quip._

_"Nice to meet you, Percy Percy Weasley," Oliver said with a grin, shaking Percy's hand firmly. "You're very tall. Has anyone ever told you that?"_

_"A few people," Percy mumbled, starting to get annoyed with this exuberant kid. "Has anyone ever told you that you're very talkative?"_

_Oliver feigned taking offence. "I'm hurt, Percy Percy Weasley. I _like_ talking a lot."_

_Percy pursed his lips. "I'd really rather you didn't call me that."_

_"Can I call you 'Perce', then?" Oliver asked._

_"No," Percy snapped, "definitely not."_

_"You're no fun," Oliver said, but he looked very amused. "But since I like you, I'm going to give you another chance."_

_"Another chance at what?" Percy said grumpily, staring intently at his roast beef and potatoes._

_"At being my new best friend, of course," Oliver chirped._

_Percy blushed the Weasley red and glared across at Oliver. "What makes you think that I _want_ to be your new best friend?"_

_Oliver shrugged. "I like your hair."_

_"That's not a proper reason."_

_"It is for me," Oliver said. He smiled contentedly, before stuffing his face with what looked like a whole potato._

_He was, it seemed, everything that Percy disliked. He was overly chatty, silly, flippant, gluttonous, and he evidently didn't think before he spoke. But when he stuck out his fork and offered Percy a stewed carrot, joking that it matched his hair, Percy couldn't stop himself from laughing. And when Oliver refused to let Percy have the bed next to the window, because he said it would be too comical for someone so tall to use the bed next to the short, blond kid, Jack, Percy found himself giving in._

_And soon, Percy found that he didn't mind the idea of being Oliver Wood's best friend so much at all._

xxx

Percy put down his quill with a small flourish. He didn't dare show just how proud he was with himself for getting through that. It was _quite _a long letter. He read it through again twice, just to make sure that it fit the requirements.

Okay, so maybe calling Dolores Umbridge a "truly delightfuly woman" was a bit of a push. But Fudge had been very clear with his instructions: "your brother is a Prefect, Weasley, you need to give him a push in the right direction by any means possible". Percy had thought that hinting at his interview with the _Daily Prophet _hadn't been a bad idea, either.

Suddenly, an interdepartmental memo struck Percy in the side of the head and flopped messily down in front of him. It was from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Percy's eyebrows raised. There was only one person in that department who could be writing to the Minister's Junior Assistant, and seeing as he'd just seen her at lunch, he wasn't sure why she would be sending him a memo.

Sure enough, when he unfolded it, he saw the slightly scrawly handwriting of perhaps his only friend at the Ministry, Isolde Bowman. Isolde had been a Prefect with him at Hogwarts, and even though their views differed regularly on various important issues, she still seemed to like him, which was a miracle, considering how few people seemed to like him these days.

"_Just got back from my afternoon break to see Gill - he wanted to let you know he'd be going out to meet some friends tonight, and wondered if you wanted to join him. He'll be leaving around six. Please don't send him another owl - you KNOW he hates birds!_"

Percy smiled vaguely. He really _could _do with the night off; he'd been working far to hard for his own good lately. Then again, he _did _have a lot of work to do. He still hadn't sent his letter to Ron, and it was approaching five-thirty. Was that _really _a reasonable time to be coming back from an afternoon break?

Making up his mind, he headed to the Ministry Owlery where Hermes had been staying and attached the letter to his leg. Hermes hooted cheerfully, happy to be given a job for once.

"Sorry about keeping you locked up here," Percy mumbled, not entirely sure why he was talking to an owl, "but you know how it is. You'd attract too much attention in the middle of Muggle London. Not to mention my flatmate-"

Hermes hooted again, this time impatiently.

Percy bit his lip in annoyance. Even his _owl _didn't want to listen to him. "Alright, off you go," he said, "get this to my... to Ron."

Hermes flew off without another sound, and Percy set off slowly back to his office. Almost as soon as he returned, he was accosted by his boss, Cornelius Fudge.

"Ah, Weasley!" Fudge said. "I was hoping you could give me a hand here - I was hoping you could send out these invitations for my cousin Aurelius's wedding."

The pile of un-addressed letters were thrust into Percy's hands. "Actually, sir," he began tentatively, "I was hoping I could leave slightly early tonight. A friend of mine is-"

"Nonsense, nonsense," said Fudge airily, "you can get these done now, surely?"

"But of course, sir," Percy said. He wondered briefly why he had even considered going out with Gill and his friends, before sitting back down at his desk to get to work matching up invitations to names on Aurelius Fudge's guest-list.

xxx

Percy only made it back to his flat at nine. Gill had left a piece of paper with some gluey substance on the back that Muggles called a "sticky note" on Percy's bedroom door.

"_Got my message from Isolde? Gone out with friends. Be back late. Hope you miss me, you nutjob._"

Percy frowned and pulled the note off, walking it to the wastepaper bin in the kitchen. He would just have vanished it, but Gill, a Muggle, rather disliked it when he used magic.

"_Gill's not around_," he thought to himself, and with the a glimmer of excitement that usually belongs to a child breaking a rule for the first time, Percy picked the note back out of the bin and, pointing his wand at it, almost yelled the word "_evanesco_!"

He almost laughed aloud. But not quite.

A month ago, he would have been too scared to use magic in Gill's flat. He had only just moved in then, and still in Hogwarts-mode, he refrained from using magic in view of the Muggle. But now he was starting to think of it less as Gill's flat, and more as his, or at least theirs. He'd only been there once before he'd moved in, with Isolde and Oliver. Isolde had said her Muggle brother was having a party, and she'd love if some of her friends came along with her. Percy had been working late and had only made it at eight-thirty. Oliver was so annoyed by his lateness that Percy stayed the rest of the night, got absolutely shitfaced, and Apparated back to the Burrow well after midnight, splinching all the hairs on his right arm. His mother was furious.

He tensed slightly at the thought of that night. The less he thought about his family - could he still call them his family? - the better. Oliver, on the other hand, he thought about all the time. Which probably explained the constant sense of discomfort that followed him around like a bad smell.

But as he sat rather uncomfortably on the kitchen counter with some Muggle chocolate that always seemed to be in ready supply, he couldn't drive that first night he'd sat on the counter out of his memory. He'd sat there with Oliver. No-one was paying any attention to the kitchen; one of Gill's Muggle friends was putting on a show of drinking copious quantities of a kind of butterbeer (but without the butter) very quickly whilst standing on the couch. So Percy and Oliver had taken advantage of the distraction and done rather inappropriate things on the kitchen counter.

Percy jumped suddenly and with a loud thump off the counter. That was an experience he would rather not relive just then.

"Percy? That you?"

Percy jumped again as Gill's voice rang out from the doorway. He said he'd be back _late_...

"It's me," he called back.

"You're not," Gill began hesitantly, "you're not doing any of your _magic_, are you?"

"N-no," Percy said rather hopelessly, "I just jumped off the kitchen counter."

"What'd'you do that for?" Gill asked, stepping through into the small kitchen.

Percy shrugged. "Just... I didn't like it up there." He realised he was still holding the chocolate, and put it down hastily on the counter.

Gill smiled sympathtically. "You've got to stop thinking about him."

Percy shook his head. He suddenly had a craving for some very strong firewhiskey. "Can't. Won't."

"You sound like a petulant child," Gill joked. "Honestly, Percy. Act your age."

Percy scoffed slightly. "I'm _twenty_, Gill, and I'm already Junior Assistant to the Minister. I've got an excuse to act slightly older than I am."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Gill said, stepping closer to Percy, "you need to stop being such a kid about Oliver. I don't care if it was the world's world break-up ever, you've got to get over it eventually."

"I doubt it," Percy said quietly.

"I've offered before. If you ever want to get over him properly, you know where I am."

"_Guillame_," Percy said sternly, "we've been through this."

"Yeah, I know, all I'm saying is that if you ever want some fantastic consolation sex..."

Huffily, Percy pushed past Gill, walked to his bedroom and shut the door with a clang behind him.

Percy had been hesitant at first about moving in with someone so incredibly gay - he didn't think he would last ten seconds, his sexuality being as it was and the only proper relationship he'd ever been in having ended in a spectacular shouting match, a pair of boots being thrown out of a window, several of his Ministry reports going up in flames and a broomstick jammed in the u-bend of a toilet. But he had been surprisingly restrained, and had managed in the month he'd been living not to even come _close _to letting his inner rampant homosexual off the leash. He was rather proud of himself.

He lay stewing on his bed, trying to block out the sound of Gill's talking and banging at his door. He snatched up the list on his bedside table, reading down it. So far, he'd learnt fourteen of the two hundred languages he needed to learn to catch up to the record that his former boss had set. There were a few extras that Mr. Crouch _hadn't _learnt added to the bottom of the list, most of which had been suggested by Penelope Clearwater, Percy's best friend-turned-pen pal, who was spending a year or two in America at the only Wizarding School of Art and Design in the world. Every weeks she'd drege up a Native American language that only about five people spoke, and because he didn't want to let her down, Percy would add them to the list.

Perhaps, he thought, if Gill stopped making such a racket he would make a start on Japanese. He'd been meaning to get to it for a while, but things were very hectic at work.

"Peeercyyy," Gill whined from the other side of the door, "stop suuulkiiiiing! You know I was just joking! Come out, and we can get pissed. I've got some cheap voooodkaaaaa..."

Percy smiled at Gill's choice of words: "come out". He got up and walked to the door, opening it a crack.

"I'm already out," he said, with a straight face, "and I don't like vodka."

Gill spun around dramatically, laughing stupidly. "Stop it, you dick. Get your arse in here; we'll get smashed. Come on."

"What happened to going out with your friends?" Percy asked.

"They were all boring little fucks tonight," Gill slurred. "'Course, I _am _rather drunk already. But you know. It's not the same as getting wankered with a Wizard."

Percy shrugged to himself. It wasn't like he wasn't essentially entirely on top of all his work. He was a _very _good Ministry employee. Anyway, it was get drunk or learn Japanese. And Percy didn't have it in him to learn a whole new set of characters so late.

"I've never met anyone with so many synonyms for 'drunk'," he said, leaving his bedroom and following Gill to the kitchen.

"I've never met anyone who works as hard as you," Gill retorted, "so I doubt you know much about getting drunk."

"I know more than you'd think I would," said Sober Percy primly.

_Get the vodka flowing already_, Drunk Percy called from somewhere inside his head, a relic of a mindset he had left behind the moment he'd stormed out of Oliver's flat.

"I'm going to get you so wasted that you forget how to get to work tomorrow," Gill joked, with only a slight note of seriousness in his voice.

"I hope not," Percy said, wondering just how much he would regret this in the morning. He was, after all, a model employee, and in tough times like these, he needed to perform at his utmost level.

Then again, Gill was holding a glass of vodka tantalisingly in front of him. And it had been so long since Percy had actually properly enjoyed himself...

"Drink up," Gill said, thrusting the drink into his hand.

Percy downed it in one gulp. "I feel better already."

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WHAT DID YOU THINK? A promising beginning? Not living up to its tag of "humour" yet? Too much humour, not enough angst? LEAVE ME A REVIEW and let me know, you fabulous people.

Sorry for the slight wait after RBS ended... I was distracted by Remus/Sirius. Fssshhh.

- _Legs_

NEXT TIME IN "BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE": Percy is NOT thinking about Oliver Wood. At all. Shut up.


	2. Yes, Minister

OH LOOK. Another chapter. Sorry for keeping you waiting! Thank you to everyone who alerted/faved/reviewed the first chapter. Your words honestly mean the world to me. (So keep 'em coming!) Now, enjoy chapter 2 forthwith!

**Disclaimer**: I OWN NUSSINK! (Not Harry Potter, not the awesome telly show "Yes, Minister". Nussink.)

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2. Yes, Minister

_Percy Weasley had had his fair share of bad days. He'd been taunted in his earlier years at Hogwarts, he'd received bad marks on essays, he'd been ignored by his family and his job wasn't exactly a walk in the park either. But he'd only ever gone through one bad day that was so painful that by the end of it he just felt like pointing his wand at himself and shouting "_Avada Kedavra_"._

_It didn't bear thinking about. They had finally started living together, and then suddenly, almost out of the blue, they had broken up. And it almost wrenched his heart in two. He didn't know where he could go except home - back to his family. They were the last people he needed to see after a day like that, but Penelope was in America and he didn't trust himself to Apparate anywhere other than her house or the Burrow in his present state of mind._

_A bad day turned good turned bad again at the Ministry, a bad day for his love life, and really, it could only get worse._

_Half the things he said to his father, he didn't mean. His heart wasn't in his words; it had crawled into a corner and said "hold on a second, where is Oliver? What? What's going on? Excuse me, ceasing to exist."_

_But he was furious. He was furious with Fudge for the mountains of paperwork. He was furious with Oliver for letting him continue the argument. He was furious at his father's insinuations about his promotion. He was furious with his family for never understanding him. And so he released his fury in perhaps the worst way possible._

_And then all of a sudden he was making promises he couldn't keep. He couldn't just up and leave, where would he go? He couldn't ignore his family for the rest of his life! He couldn't sever all ties! Typical Percy, all talk and no action._

_Something had snapped inside him. How could he even think of himself as "all talk, no action"? He acted! He worked hard for everything he had ever had in life - his marks, his friends, his job - and his family had done nothing for him. Nothing to help, nothing at all. How could he stay in the home that had held him back for so long? When he was younger, it was always "isn't Bill fantastic in school?" or "gosh, Charlie's talented at Quidditch!" Then it was "ill-behaved as they are, you can't deny Fred and George's intelligence", "I'm so proud of Ron for all those amazingly brave things he's done with the Potter boy," and "poor Ginny, what an ordeal!"_

_Sure, his parents were proud of him, but he always seemed to take the backseat. And his brothers and sister had treated him with little-to-no-respect at the best of times, barring Charlie occasionally, but he was in Romania, and what help was that?_

_It was all so overwhelming._

_His bags were already mostly packed, having just left Oliver's apartment, and he was seething with rage._

_So the next morning he left the Burrow behind. For good._

xxx

Percy sat at the dining table, thumbing absently through the _Daily Prophet_. It was more of the same: "Harry Potter is a liar", "Dumbledore is beyond the pale" and "everything will be alright". That Potter was a liar, there would of course be no doubt. But Dumbledore... Percy found it very hard not to trust his words, after the man had trusted him with being the Head Boy at Hogwarts. And he couldn't shake the feeling that everything would most certainly _not_ be alright. From what he saw on the Muggle news, things weren't exactly fine and dandy in their world either.

"What's happening?" Gill asked, sitting down next to Percy with a burnt slice of toast lathered liberally in jam. Percy wrinkled his nose. It smelt awful.

"Well? Another busy day for the Junior Minister or whatever it is you are?"

"Junior _Assistant_ to the Minister," Percy corrected, "and it's _always_ a busy day. You ought to know that by now, Gill."

Gill smiled dopily. "I told myself I'd never get in with a political crowd when I was younger. But rules are made for bending, I guess."

"They are _not!_" Percy said huffily. "Rules are called rules for a reason: they're designed to be obeyed!"

"See what I mean about a political crowd?" Gill said, as though Percy had just concluded his entire argument for him.

"I've _always_ been very conscientious," Percy said, "which made me a perfect candidate for a political career. _Not_ the other way around."

"I bet you were that kid at school," Gill began, "who was always on the other kids to clean up their mess or do their homework. A teacher's pet."

"I was a Prefect," Percy said, "and then Head Boy."

"So a teacher's pet, then."

Percy didn't answer; instead he went back to the _Prophet_.

"Be that way," Gill mumbled after a few minutes of silence.

"I should be getting to work," Percy said eventually, glancing at his watch.

"DON'T discombobulate, or whatever it is you do," Gill warned. "Go out the door and down the stairs and 'round the corner like a normal person."

"It's _Disapparate_," Percy corrected, "and you know I won't."

Gill nodded. "I'll be home tonight. I was thinking of getting Turkish for supper."

"If you like," Percy said, shoving the _Prophet_ into his briefcase and heading swiftly for the door.

"See you later," Gill called as Percy walked out.

Percy had to stop himself from reacting. It was like he was settling into a pattern with Gill. And he didn't like that. The only person with whom he _ever_ wanted to settle into a pattern was Oliver.

"Good luck with that one," he muttered under his breath as he dashed down the stairs. On the way down he passed the drunken lady on the second floor landing, who seemed always to sit on that tatty little deck chair outside her apartment. With her came the obligatory smell of stale liquor – Percy held his breath.

"Mornin', Ginger," she slurred as he passed her.

"Good morning to you too, Miss Rourke. I hope you haven't been drinking this morning," he said, still not breathing.

She shrugged ineffectually. "On'y a li'l bi' o' brandy."

Percy gave her his best Ministerial frown before continuing on down the stairs. Sometimes he hated Gill for living in such a sordid part of the city; other times he thanked him for making his life slightly more interesting. The Muggle world, he was beginning to find, was so different to the Wizarding world. Its blemishes were so more apparent – the faults of Mugglekind were not hidden behind closed doors. Its music was so much more... _gritty_ than the likes of the Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck. Gill listened to this band "Oasis", and Percy had come to not mind them so much. But he didn't exactly like them either. The lead singer had a voice like Marcus Flint.

And let's not even get started on _computers_.

It was about a five minute walk to the most desolate corner of the street that Percy had taken to using as an Apparation point. There were garbage bins spilling over with yesterday's empty bottles and cigarette packets, and everything smelt vaguely of urine. But Percy would only be there for a couple of seconds.

Within moments, he transported himself to the much _cleaner_ environment of the Ministry of Magic lobby. It was resplendent as always, the high ceilings glimmering and the lights flickering in the water spilling from the golden fountain. Percy had never much liked that fountain – it was somewhat grotesque, he'd always thought – but he forgave it for its multitude of ugly, ugly sins because it glittered quite beautifully.

Percy headed over to the nearest lift and pressed for Level One. There were already a few people in the lift. One or two nodded at him, some didn't seem to notice him at all, and another gave him a dirty glare. Percy glared back at this latter fellow, before pulling the _Prophet_ out of his briefcase and picking up where he'd left off that morning.

On Level Five, a squat, round Wizard entered the lift, his shrunken appearance belying his relative youth. "Morning, Weatherby," he said to Percy, "I'm just off to see the Minister. A few people in the International Magical Office of Law are getting their wands in a knot about this whole 'High Inquisitor' palaver. I've got a message from them for Fudge."

"Morning, Harmon," Percy replied stiffly. Scott Harmon, another secretary in the Department of International Magical Co-operation like Percy had once been (and several years older than him), had never entirely forgiven Percy for being promoted at such an early stage in his career, so he continued to use the late Mr. Crouch's favourite epithet for the now-Junior Assistant to the Minister – Weatherby. (Said in a scathing tone, of course.)

But really, they got on quite well. Both men were driven and highly career-oriented.

"Delivering a message _yourself_?" Percy added sarcastically. "Too important to be sent via a memo?"

"Naturally," Scott said, full of self-importance, "some of the big-shots have signed a petition. They believe that Umbridge's appointment to this frankly nonsensical post is not in accordance with International Educational Law."

"Oh?" Percy said. "And who might these said big-shots be?"

"Cornfoot, for one," Scott began in a whisper, and took the mildly-impressed look on Percy's face as a sign to continue. "Scribbins, Palmer, Bosch..."

Percy's eyes widened. "Palmer and Bosch? Really?"

"Oh yes," Scott confirmed, nodding.

At that point, the lift shuddered to a halt on Level Three.

"Morning, Weatherby," Isolde chirped as she entered the lift. Unlike Scott, Isolde still used the nickname not for any vindictive reasons but because, well, it was damn funny.

"Isolde," Percy acknowledged with a nod, "how're you?"

"Fine, fine," Isolde said, "how's Gill going?"

"Hungover. Still can't make toast. Nothing new."

"Are you _also_ heading to see the Minister?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Isolde said, "I've just got to get his signature on the documents for the new embargo on those belts that widen the waist of their wearer. They're a right bugger. Causing us hell down on Level Three. What're you going for, Harmon?"

"A petition against Umbridge's new appointment," he boasted.

"It's earth-shattering, it is," Percy said.

"And I suppose you've signed it?" Isolde asked.

Scott blushed. "Not exactly..."

"Can I?" she asked.

"_Isolde_!" Percy snapped. "Do you _want_ to be fired?"

"Are you suggesting that's what'll happen to Cornfoot and the other signatories?" Scott interjected as the lift doors opened up to Level One. It seemed that Magical Maintenance were not in such a good mood – there was a light London drizzle in the windows.

"Cornfoot? Really?" Isolde said, surprised.

"Oh yes," Scott nodded.

The three of them and a few other stragglers walked out into the corridor. "You'd best go and see the Minister first," Scott said, "as Weatherby said, my message is _rather_ earth-shattering."

"I'll just let him know he's got a couple of visitors," Percy said, placing his briefcase carefully on his desk before knocking tentatively on the door to the Minister's office.

"Come in, come in, Weasley," Fudge said jovially. His good mood probably meant that Scott's petition wouldn't bring about _too_ much ire.

"Good morning, Minister," Percy began, suitably reverentially. "There are—"

"Say, Weasley, have you finished sending out those invitations for dear Aurelius's wedding?"

"Yes, Minister, you _did_ give me those to send over a week ago."

"Wonderful, wonderful," he said, "and the Australian Ministry? Have they been placated yet?"

"Somewhat. I had a reply back late yesterday – they're still unhappy at being subject to many of the English regulations, but they realise that complete sovereignty is out of the question. Perhaps we could negotiate a middle ground? Maybe give their Ministry some more indepen—"

"Yes, yes, very good, Weasley. Let them know that if they like they can have a few more wireless channels of their own and relax the regulations surrounding official Ministry dress in Summer. That might keep them quiet for a while."

"I shall do so immediately, Minister. And if I could just say, there are two officials waiting outside your office to discourse with you on various matters. Shall I send in the first of them?"

"Very good, Weasley," Fudge said, signifying his assent with a slight wave of the hand. "Off you go and write to the Australian Ministry, now."

"Yes, Minister," Percy said, backing hastily out of the office and giving Isolde a nod to indicate that she could head in to talk to the Minister.

He sat down at his desk and got out some parchment to write to the Australian Minister Keating. He would most probably be outraged at getting _another_ letter from the Junior Assistant to the Minister as opposed to the Minister himself, but he would just have to make do.

Within seconds Isolde was out of Fudge's office, and he called out "send in the next one, would you?" as she was leaving.

Scott gave Percy a discreet thumbs-up, and clutching his petition to his chest, he cautiously closed the door behind him.

Isolde and Percy waited apprehensively, the letter to Keating all but forgotten. For a while it seemed as though everything had gone well. And then there was a loud and reverberating "_**WHAT**_?"

They couldn't hear Scott stuttering, trying to explain himself, but they knew exactly what he would be saying. There would be excuses being made, apologies being offered, and a general downplaying of the situation. And then more shouting.

Isolde winced. "Doesn't sound promising."

"Cornfoot will be gone by tomorrow, you'll see," said Percy, sounding superior.

"Oh, don't," Isolde said, "you of all people should sympathise with his cause. I thought you didn't like Umbridge."

"The woman is an imbecilic waste of space, and I for one am glad that she's out of the Ministry. I _despise_ working near her."

Isolde rolled her eyes, and spoke over Fudge's shouting. "You know what I mean. Surely you can't approve of this High Inquisitor thing?"

"I don't. But you know, it can't hurt to have a man on the inside... or woman, in this case..."

"Sometimes you disgust me," Isolde said coldly. "You know as well as anyone that Dumbledore is right," – she ignored Percy's signals for her to be quiet, – "and that Umbridge is doing nothing at Hogwarts but feeding her own ego."

"I just hate to think that the Ministry is wrong in all this," Percy said quietly.

"I know, it's pretty unbelievable," Isolde said.

Just then, Scott backed out of Fudge's office, shutting the door behind him with some vigour.

"He's incensed," he said unnecessarily.

"I think we need to do something," Isolde said suddenly.

Scott scoffed. "Nothing can be done now, Isolde. This situation is beyond repair. With any luck, Palmer and Bosch will get to keep their jobs, seeing as they've always been such Ministry loyals. But Scribbins and Cornfoot are gone. Maybe even Orville."

"They've given their signatures for the long-term cause," Isolde said, sounding more resolved than she ever had in her life, "but what are we doing? We need to form contacts, get in touch with others who feel that the Ministry is going downhill."

Percy gasped. "Surely not, Isolde!"

"I think so," she said. "We'll talk further when we get off work. Bring anyone who might be sympathetic."

Scott nodded. Percy shook his head. "We can't! We'll be _fired_!"

"Only if anyone finds out," Isolde said.

xxx

At a Muggle cafeteria, just down the road from the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic, there sat six Witches and Wizards clustered around a table on the street, protected by a Disillusionment charm. There was Isolde Bowman, quill and parchment at the read, making notes. There was Scott Harmon, nibbling cautiously at a grilled cheese sandwich and sweating rather profusely. There was a bespectacled Auror with tightly curled blonde hair framing her face, and two of Isolde's colleagues in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes – a tall Witch who looked like she might have been a model in another life, and a Wizard with a cleft chin that was rather distracting when he was saying something that might have been vaguely interesting.

And then there was Percy Weasley, who did not know the blonde, the model or the fellow with the chin, and did not particularly want to be getting mixed up in this crowd, but had been forced along. He sat through the impromptu meeting, not paying much attention as Isolde yammered on about how much they could be doing to set the Ministry to rights.

Percy left early, making his excuses. He did not sign his name on Isolde's piece of enchanted parchment. He had a feeling he was losing two allies in the process, but he could hardly complain. He was a loyal Ministry employee; they were not.

And when he got home, he tried to forget all about the misgivings he was having about the Ministry, all the nonsense about Dumbledore and Potter, all the work he really should have been doing, and all the languages he could have been learning.

It helped that he opened the door to Gill shouting "KEBAAAAABS!" at the top of his lungs.

* * *

What did you think? Please leave a review and let me know! :)

**Author's Note**: I kinda get the feeling a lot of readers will hate me for this chapter. There was barely any mention Oliver, minimal amounts of Gill, and a whole lot of political stuff. (Can you tell I'm well involved in my Marauder-fic?) I'm hoping a couple of people picked up on the Keating reference, and perhaps the amount of time I spent on HP Lexicon researching the Ministry of Magic for this chapter. Honestly, you can cross-check all my references. There should be no faults. (I hope.) I should also mention that this is titled "Between Love and Hate" because that's where I see the Ministry in the series: not on the side of Voldemort's hate, nor Dumbledore's love. It's also the title of a song by the Strokes.

Thanks for reading!

- _Legs _

NEXT TIME IN _BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE_: Percy remains a model employee; Isolde not so much. Gill gets food poisoning from a dodgy kebab. Or not.


	3. I Don't Have To Sell My Soul

Why hello there! Sorry for the wait - I'm alternating between this fic and "Sex, Communism and Other Subversive Activities", which you should really read. But I digress. Thank you to everyone who has been enjoying this thus far, and has left their love in a review or story alert. You guys rock, seriously. Here's a nice long chapter for you. ENJOY!

**Disclaimer**: Last time I looked, Harry Potter wasn't big on Britpop. Hence this is clearly not JKR writing, but Legs, a massive Britfag.

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3. I Don't Have To Sell My Soul

_When Percy's Prefect badge arrived in the mail, he refused to believe that it was real, that it could possibly belong to him. Being a Prefect meant authority over and respect from your fellow students, neither of which he had. So why was the badge in his hands, on his robes?_

_Of course, he had always dreamt of a career in the Ministry, but nothing too serious – mainly paper-pushing, office work. Certainly nothing like his father's job – the head of a _whole department_! And yet there he was, four years of younger students suddenly thrust under his protection. He would be responsible for keeping them in line._

_But how could he do that if he couldn't even get the twins to stop calling him stupid names and sticking dungbombs beneath his bed?_

_His mother hugged him until he was sore, his father clapped him on the back, Bill and Charlie proudly shook his hand. _

_Fred laughed and said "Percy, a Prefect?"_

"_Has the world gone mad?" George added._

_Ron laughed, and Ginny contributed her opinion that he probably wouldn't be any good._

_And if he was going to be a Prefect, it was the opinion of those younger than himself that mattered._

_In the middle of the Summer holiday, Percy's on-again-off-again best friend came to visit. Oliver said he was there because Charlie was going to get him up to speed with what duties as a Quidditch Captain entailed. But Percy knew that he was there for him._

_Oliver stayed for dinner and they spent the evening in the garden, sitting beneath a tree and eating sugar quills over a conversation._

"_But you can't be scared," Oliver said, "you're Percy Weasley, top of the grade and not even in Ravenclaw. I think this more than proves that you can do whatever the bloody hell you want."_

"_I don't know if I want to be a Prefect," Percy admitted._

"'_Course you do," Oliver said, a quill protruding from the corner of his mouth. "Everyone wants to be a Prefect. Unless they're Quidditch Captain, which is well better."_

_Percy laughed, but quickly composed himself. "But I'd require some semblance of authority. I don't have any of that."_

"_Poppycock," Oliver proclaimed loudly, springing to his feet. "So no-one listens to you. You know why? Because you don't speak to them! Sure, you've got me and Kathleen to talk to, but that isn't what being a Prefect is about, having two great friends. You need to show _other_ people that you could take them on any time."_

"_I'm not going to start lording it over other students just because of a silly little badge," Percy said._

"_That was a very declarative sentence," Oliver said. "You sure seem certain of what you're saying. That's good. Prefects shouldn't 'umm' and 'ahh', they should let everyone know that they're in charge."_

_Percy opened his mouth to object, but Oliver ploughed on. "See, you've already got authority, and a quite delightful air of superiority, if I may say so. If you can make a silly boy like me listen to you, then you can make _anyone_ listen to you. But you don't."_

"_How could I possibly do that?" Percy asked._

_It _had_ been a rhetorical question._

"_You need to build up to it. Start by asserting yourself more often. And then, I don't know, the rest should just follow. Yeah?"_

_Percy nodded. He understood what Oliver was trying to tell him. He needed to take this in his stride. A good Ministry of Magic employee would do just so. Being a Prefect would look good on his résumé, but being a _successful_ Prefect would look even better._

_Perhaps he would start by putting the twins in their place once in a while. Like Oliver said, he should build up to it. Doubtless by the end of the Summer he'd have such authority in his demeanour that he would make a top-rate Prefect._

_Heck, he might even _enjoy_ it!_

xxx

It wasn't that work got harder. It was just that the amount of paper on Percy's desk seemed to grow exponentially every day. And it _really _didn't help that Swedish was quite a tricky language to get his tongue around.

So sitting around awkwardly in a Muggle bar with Gill and Isolde was really _not_ how he wanted to spend his evening. Winter was drawing ever nearer, and there was a snippy Autumn chill in the London air. The bar, in contrast, was warmed by consistently spaced radiators and the crush of sweaty youths on the ludicrously-small dancefloor, moving up and down as a collective in time to a song that seemed to be about boys and girls and not much else.

"Just drink some goddamn beer," Gill said, shoving a frothing glass beneath Isolde's nose.

"It just doesn't compare," she whined. "Once you've had butterbeer, you can't go back to regular!"

"Percy? You up for any beer?" Gill persisted.

Percy shook his head resolutely. "I need to keep a clear head – I have work to do tonight."

Gill snorted. "It's already ten, and I'm not letting you drag me home until I'm thoroughly plastered. You're not getting any work done, face it."

Percy sighed. "I _could_ just Apparate..."

"Don't you fucking dare, Wizard-boy," Gill snapped, throwing a glower at Percy.

Rolling his eyes, Percy stood up from the bar stool. "I'm just going to the bathroom," he said.

"NO FUNNY BUSINESS!" Gill yelled after him, audible even over the din.

As soon as he got into the grimy men's room, Percy locked himself inside a cubicle and, hoisting himself up onto the toilet, Disapparated with what he hoped was an inaudible crack. He timed it to the opening of the door, with music floating in from the bar.

Within seconds he was standing in Diagon Alley, outside a shoe store that held memories he would rather not revisit. It was late and the store was closed, but there were candles shining in the windows, highlighting the latest fashions. Percy tore himself away from the window and walked further down the street towards the Tablus Newsagency. The newsagency was about the only store still open at that time of night, with a spotty sales-Wizard, who looked like he should be at home in bed, standing at the counter and yawning over a large pile of_ Evening Prophets_.

"Evenin', Mister!" he called out as Percy approached. "C'n I interest you in an _Evening Prophet_? T'night's headline - Ministry crackdown on Hogwarts."

"Maybe not tonight," Percy said. Work was already on his mind far too much - the last thing he needed was to read about Dolores bloody Umbridge. "What magazines have you got in stock?"

"We've got the _Jinx Journal_, latest edition just come in. Big feature on Impediment jinxes. Or _Quidditch Quarterly_ - not a new one but it's still interesting to read what they said about Puddlemere, 'specially considering what happened this morning."

Percy had a slight internal struggle for a few moments before deciding that yes, he _should_ ask. "Oh? What happened with Puddlemere?"

"Ain't you heard?" the boy said with a laugh. "The _Quarterly_ had pretty much said they were done for in the leagues. No-hopers. But then when they were playing the Wasps - my team, I should add - their Keeper got Bludger'd in the chest and got sent off, and they brought on the reserve; his first match with 'em. The fellow didn' let a _single Quaffle through_."

The Wasps supported looked awed; Percy looked rather awkward. Of course he knew _exactly_ who the reserve Keeper for Puddlemere was.

"I'll just get a copy of the _Jinx Journal_, then."

After he'd bought the magazine, he Apparated back into the very same toilet cubicle, shrunk the magazine, slipped it in his pocket and headed back out.

"You took your time," Gill said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I just needed some quiet for a bit," Percy said.

"Honestly," Gill said, "it was just _Blur_."

"What's blurred?" Percy asked, confused.

"Blur," Gill corrected, "a band."

"Sort of like the Weird Sisters, but worse," Isolde added.

"Unlikely!" Gill said. "Blur are pretty decent."

"The Weird Sisters are still better," Isolde argued.

They continued in this vain for some time, the argument only ceasing when another song came on and Gill proclaimed that Oasis (whoever they might be) were better than the Weird Sisters _and_ Blur, and starting a verbal bout with a Muggle who clearly thought that Gill was crazy to prefer Oasis over Blur.

"Muggles, eh?" Isolde said with a laugh. "Such petty concerns."

"You were just arguing about music too," Percy pointed out.

Changing the subject with accomplished flair, Isolde offered to buy Percy something called a "breezer", which really didn't sound too pleasant. It reminded him vaguely of a jinx he had once learnt about that gave a person incessant wind for several days. Perhaps there was something about it in his magazine, he mused.

"Hey, Isolde!" Gill called out suddenly. "Meet my new friend, Mark."

"I see you've gotten over your musical differences," she said with a bemused smile.

"Yeah, we both agree that the 'Roses are better than everything else out there."

"Hey mate, that your girlfriend?" Mark asked.

Gill shuddered. "Fuck no. This is my sister here."

"Whoops," Mark said, proceeding to take a swig from his pint of beer. "What about Ginger? Your boyfriend?"

"I wish," Gill joked, glancing sideways at Percy, who was looking resolutely into the bottom of his glass of vodka, the only muggle alcohol he could stomach, not because he liked the taste but because Gill forced it upon him frequently. He was also wondering at how Muggles seemed to call him "Ginger" quite a lot.

"I should be heading back," Percy said, "I've really got to finish off some work."

Mark let out a loud peal of laughter. "What the hell are you doing thinking about work now?"

"He works for the government," Gill said. A half-truth.

Mark grimaced. "A Tory?"

Percy frowned. "I'm just a paper-pusher. I've got no affiliation with any party."

Gill had explained Muggle politics to him briefly – instead of independent people standing for the post of Minister, they had sever distinct "parties" (much like the factions within the Ministry) which put forward one candidate for a post known as "Prime Minister". Gill's summary of the parties consisted of "Tories are bad. Labour is good. No-one else matters."

"So you voted Labour, right?" Mark said, eager to confirm that his new friend's friend was on his side.

"Of course," Percy said, wishing he actually know what allegiances he had just announced.

Mark nodded. "Good man."

"I really should go," Percy reiterated.

"Barman, more vodka!" Gill cried.

"You are _not_ getting me drunk tonight," Percy snapped.

Eight hours later, Percy woke up on the floor of Gill's flat, his head resting on Isolde's stomach and a pounding headache in his temples. It was six-thirty, and he could remember very little about the night before, except for copious amounts of vodka, impromptu acrobatics on a park bench and Gill and Mark singing very loudly about wanting to be adored.

He stealthily pulled himself up without waking Isolde, and stumbled into the kitchen. At the back of Gill's fridge, behind a special panel, was Percy's stash of butterbeer. He pulled out a bottle and drank it in two minutes flat. This did nothing for the headache.

"Morning, bureaucrat," Gill's acquaintance of the previous night said, twirling into the kitchen and opening the fridge. Percy hastily dropped his bottle into the garbage bin.

"Good morning, Mark," he said.

"I had the trippiest dream last night," Mark said with a laugh. "We were all on the couch out there, and you and Gill's sister had these twigs you'd found at the park and they turned out to be magic wands or some shit, and then you made the coffee table float, and some other crazy shit."

"Gosh, you must have gotten _really_ drunk," Percy said, despite the fact that all of that probably happened.

"Yeah, man, don't you remember? We were fully arsed. That was one wild night."

Percy shrugged. "I don't remember much."

He excused himself, saying that he needed to get ready for work. Which would be a chore hungover, but you know. One copes.

The door to Gill's bedroom was open, so Percy let himself in and sat down on the side of the bed. Gill's head was buried in his pillow, which Percy was pretty sure was unhealthy.

"Gill. Wake up."

Gill groaned and rolled over. "Go away, Isolde."

"It's Percy."

He opened one eye to see that it was in fact not his sister talking, but his flatmate.

"Oh, Percy. Go away."

"Gill, what happened last night?"

"A lot of things. Which particular part are you referring to?"

"Did Isolde and I levitate the coffee table?"

Gill's expression soured. "Yes, yes you did. If I was halfway-sober I would have tried to stop you."

"It's okay, Mark thought he was dreaming."

"I'm surprised he thinks he got any sleep," Gill said.

Percy raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to ask, but then thought the better of it, and promptly closed it again.

"I've got to get ready for work," he said after a while. "I'll see you later tonight."

"If you insist," Gill mumbled, before rolling back over and burying his head once again.

xxx

Percy made it to the Ministry on-the-dot, if a little less alert than usual. Fudge was not in the best of moods – he was a Wimbourne Wasps supporter, as were all of Ludo Bagman's friends. Throughout the day he could be heard muttering angrily as he paced around his office. The main downside of this was that he was doing very little work himself, and passing it all onto his Junior Assistant.

And Swedish wasn't getting any easier.

At about midday, Isolde burst onto Level One carrying a wireless, which she placed emphatically upon Percy's desk.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Interview with the 'Keeper who saved Puddlemere' in a few minutes on QGB News," she said with a sly smile. "Thought you would be interested."

Unfortunately, she said this at the very moment Fudge chose to leave his office and see what all the fuss was about. "I didn't know you followed Quidditch, Weasley," he said.

"Oh, um..."

"I gather you're a Puddlemere fan, then?" Fudge continued, a scathing edge growing in his voice.

"I suppose you could say that," Percy said hesitantly, "although I don't really follow."

"They gave the Wasps quite a walloping," he continued. "I should be interested to see what this young talent has to say for himself."

"I'm sure it'll be _very_ interesting," Isolde said, winking discreetly at Percy.

"I presume you support Puddlemere too, then, Bowman," Fudge said, surprising Isolde by knowing her name.

"I'm a Harpies girl, myself," she said, quickly recovering from her mild shock.

Fudge harrumphed.

"Oh, it should be starting now," Isolde said, checking her watch. She flicked the wireless on, and the booming voice of the QGB announcer came crackling to life.

"And now I'll be speaking with Oliver Wood, reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United, the team who surprised the nation yesterday morning by defeating the Wimbourne Wasps in what can only be described as a knock-out victory. Wood was brought on when the regular Keeper Fletcher had to be sent off for medical attention after a particularly nasty Bludger to the chest from Wasps Beater Orwell."

"That Orwell has good aim," Fudge interjected, "pity about the consequences of this one. Fletcher is pathetic."

"Oliver Wood," the announcer continued, "the first thing I must ask is how it feels to have saved _every single _Quaffle that came your way in your debut match for Puddlemere United."

Percy could almost hear Oliver grinning over the radio. "Well, Paul, I was just playing my utmost. One shouldn't see so many saves as a spectacular feat, but as a display of my extreme commitment to the game of Quidditch and as an extension of my talents as a Keeper."

_Modesty was never his strong suit_, Percy thought with an unconscious smile.

"So tell us a bit about how you came to join Puddlemere's reserve team."

"Well, as soon as I finished Hogwarts I tried out for the team, and was accepted. There's not much else to tell."

"And I've heard that you were Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team for three years when you attended Hogwarts. Did that put you in a better position than most other applicants to the reserve team?"

"It might have. It certainly gave me more experience as a player. After numerous defeats, the details of which I won't go into, we won the House Cup in my seventh year, which I think instilled into me the confidence to really pursue my career in Quidditch."

"Nonsense," Percy said aloud as the announcer asked another question, "he'd wanted to play for Puddlemere since first year! At least!"

"Now I see why you support them," Fudge said. "A friend of his, are you?"

"I was," Percy said, keeping it cryptic.

"And on behalf of all the ladies listening, I feel obliged to ask if you're seeing anyone at the moment," the announcer continued.

"Heavens, no," Oliver said with a laugh. "I consider myself married to Quidditch, and not available for any affairs."

The announcer gave a nervous laugh, and Isolde shot Percy a look that plainly read "this is all your fault!"

"Well, that explains it," Fudge said proudly, "the fellow has no life."

"Excuse me," Percy said. "I think I need to use the bathroom."

He didn't come out until his lunch break at one.

xxx

_In the Summer before their fifth year at Hogwarts began, Oliver Wood spent the day at the Burrow. He'd said he wanted Charlie to run him through the basics of being a Quidditch Captain, but really he just wanted to see Percy._

_Ever since Oliver had kissed Percy in a rush of emotions upon being appointed Captain, he had been struggling with the side of his bisexuality that had until then remained purely hypothetical and untested. Merlin, he fancied his best friend. This was way out of the realm of the hypothetical. This was real._

_He couldn't understand why Percy had been so scared about being appointed Prefect. For Oliver, it had seemed only natural. It would have been odd if any of the others were Prefect. Thom was too ineffectual, Daffyd was too much of a jerk, and Jack wasn't quite forceful enough. And Oliver was Quidditch Captain, which was _well _better._

_Besides, Percy had all the right qualities. Even if only Oliver really ever got to see them._

_Oliver was slightly miffed at himself for not kissing Percy when he'd first seen him after finding out about the Prefect thing. It would have been the perfect opportunity to test his hypothesis. Then again, there would be many more opportunities, Oliver was certain. Maybe after he'd won his first match as Quidditch Captain. Or if Percy got a particularly good result for his O.W.L.s. Or if Percy was made Head Boy._

_Oliver mentally slapped himself – IF Percy was made Head Boy? It was more a question of WHEN._

_Then again, he wasn't sure he could wait two years to kiss Percy again._

_Then again, when he thought about it, if the two years were certain to end in a kiss, then two years he would wait._

_

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_So if you love it, leave a review. It's just a button, just a click away from you. (Sung to the tune of Take Me Out, obvs.)

In case you didn't pick up on it, the title of this chapter is from the Stone Roses song "I Wanna Be Adored", the Blur song that was playing was "Girls & Boys", the 'Roses song that Gill and Mark sing is also "I Wanna Be Adored" (duh), and QGB stands for "Quidditch in Great Britain". And I made up pretty much everything about the Quidditch teams in here, just to let you know. And Mark DOES have a purpose in the plot. Or, he will eventually. :)

Until next time, adieu!

- _Legs_

NEXT TIME IN _BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE_: Whilst still not thinking about Oliver Wood, Percy continues to not join any secret societies and not learn Swedish.


	4. Three Mistakes

Once again, apologise for the horrendous lateness of this chapter. It turns out I'm having a lot more fun with _Sex, Communism and Other Subversive Activities_ at the moment. But I think you, those of you who're still reading this even after I've been such a terrible procrastinator, will like this chapter.

ON WITH THE SHOW!

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4. Three Mistakes - Mark, Julian and Daffyd

_It was the Weasley motto in all but writing that "family is everything". From the youngest age, that had been drummed into Percy. He knew that he was to trust his family in the entirety with his every thought and secret. And to some extent, he did._

_And yet it was so hard to work up the courage just to stand before his mother and say "Oliver Wood is my boyfriend. We are an item. I am not asking your opinion or permission, I am telling you."_

_Ever since his father had walked in on him and Oliver in a rather compromising position, he had been insisting that Percy tell his mother the full details of their relationship. Apparently she was still labouring under the impression that Percy would one day marry a respectable young lady from the Ministry and bear her a dozen or so red-haired and freckled Weasley grandchildren, with minimal fuss._

_But Percy just couldn't tell her. He was just too afraid to see that look of disappointment in her eyes._

_He could either be continually annoyed with himself for being a pathetic, yellow-bellied Gryffindor, or watch his mother's face fall at the news that he was not going to be getting together with any women for the foreseeable future. And Percy would much rather hate himself than have his mother hate him._

_Oliver, too, was encouraging him to tell Molly. "Seriously, it won't be long before your dad tells her himself. And then things'll get awkward."_

_Percy couldn't look the man he loved in the eyes and tell him that he was too nervous to come clean about their relationship. So he'd just say "I will, I will eventually."_

_And then one day Oliver wouldn't accept that as an answer._

"_Why haven't you told her yet?" he pressed._

"_I can't," Percy said hastily. Bad move._

"_You can't?" Oliver near-yelled. "Why not?"_

"_Oliver, you don't know my mother," Percy said, trying to explain himself, "she'll be devastated. She wants grandchildren from me..."_

"_We can adopt!" Oliver snapped._

"_I don't want children!" Percy snapped back. "But mother—"_

"_Fucking Merlin," Oliver said, "you've got to stop trying to spare your mother's feelings, and think a bit about sparing mine. If you even care about them."_

"_Oh, this is rich!" Percy cried._

_And things just went downhill from there._

xxx

If Gill had been a pain around Percy when he was single, then he was an absolute nuisance as a taken man. Mark was meant to be a one-night stand, not the love of Gill's life. But now Gill had resurrected his career as a guitarist and was setting his love sonnets to music as he wandered the apartment, generally bothering Percy and distracting him from his work.

"What rhymes with Mark?" he had asked Percy one evening. Percy was sitting at the dining table labouring over Russian, and Gill had strode in with his guitar.

"What the _hell_ is that?" Percy had asked.

"This is Julian. He's my acoustic."

"Julian?"

"I named him after my first boyfriend. Bad idea. But I can't bring myself to change his name."

"You're terrible," Percy said. "Put him away, I'm trying to work."

"Come on," Gill said, ignoring Percy, "what rhymes with Mark?"

"Dark," Percy said offhandedly.

"Oh Mark," Gill began to sing, strumming at Julian, "your pubes are really dark!"

Percy wrinkled his nose.

"Okay, okay," Gill continued. "Oh Mark, your hair is lovely and dark. In bed you're like a shark. You bite more than you bark!"

"Disgusting!" Percy had yelled, snatching up his Russian textbooks and retreating into his room.

Since then, Percy had kept himself locked away when Gill was in a musical mood. And for good reason. Either Mark was in Gill's room, and they were getting up to Merlin knows what, or Gill was in Gill's room, singing loudly whilst getting up to Merlin knows what.

"He's intolerable!" Percy complained to Isolde over lunch one day in December.

"Gill's always been like that, though," Isolde replied. "He bought his guitar at fifteen when he was going out with Julian and wrote a shitload of songs for him. I think that's why Julian dumped him. But then there was Pete, and Lloyd, and Jamie..."

"Merlin," Percy said, "he gets around, doesn't he?"

"He used to - and it was the same every time. But he's been single for a longer stretch than usual."

"Before Mark," Percy said with a grimace.

"Quite," Isolde said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I _like_ Mark, but he's..."

"He's an arsehole," Percy said blankly.

"... he's in-your-face," Isolde finished. "There's nothing wrong with being opinionated, and heaven knows I agree with half of his. But it's the way he goes about showing it, you know?"

"He's an arsehole," Percy repeated. "Like Daffyd. Remember him?"

"Of course I do!" Isolde said with a laugh. They were referring to a former-dorm-mate of Percy and Oliver's, who had been a serial jerk. But Daffyd had probably been worse than Mark - at least Mark wasn't conniving and just downright nasty.

"Afternoon, you two," Scott Harmon said, joining Isolde and Percy at their table in the Ministry Cafeteria. "How're things?"

"Well enough," Isolde said with a cheery smile.

Percy shrugged. "Irritating."

"Tell me about it," Scott said. "Things are going bananas; I'm running left, right and centre with denials of You-Know-Who's return."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Percy scoffed, "seeing as there's no way He Who Must Not Be Named could _possibly_ have returned."

"Easy for _you_ to say," Scott said, "you're nice and sheltered under the Minister's wing. But things in the press are bonkers. Even without Skeeter in action."

"If the _Prophet_ chooses to report such nonsense, then that's their problem," Percy said resolutely.

"As much as I have my doubts about the Ministry's take on things," Isolde whispered to Scott, "Percy's got a point. The _Prophet_ don't know the meaning of the term 'journalistic standards'," she added, slightly louder. "These days it's mostly gossip and hearsay."

"Say what you will," Scott said, "but they still maintain a certain standing as the main source of news in Wizarding Britain. People will read stories about the Potter kid being a nutjob, but all they'll take out of it is that there's a chance that You-Know-Who has returned. It creates panic. Especially on the international stage."

Percy was too tired to get into a full-blown argument, so he just nodded apathetically. Isolde gave Scott a look that clearly said "not here, not now".

"Are we having _coffee_ after work then?" Isolde said, her voice laden with meaning.

"I believe so, yes," Scott confirmed. "Percy, are you coming?"

"I don't think so," Percy said. "I think I'll just work late, go home and sleep with a _Silencio_ around my room."

"Oh, god, is Mark coming 'round?" Isolde asked sympathetically.

"I'm afraid so," Percy said.

"Who is this Mark fellow?" Scott asked, clearly wondering why anyone in their right mind would be "coming 'round" to wherever it was that Percy lived.

"He's my flatmate's boyfriend," Percy explained.

"My brother," Isolde added.

"Mark is your brother?"

"No, Percy's flatmate is my brother."

"Oh," Scott said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Must be awkward, then, sharing a house with a gay."

Percy and Isolde exchanged a quick glance, before Percy said "not really".

Scott shrugged. "I'd get a little antsy. He might try and chat me up or something."

"Unlikely," Percy said with an involuntary snort. Scott was not much to look at.

Isolde gave Percy a scolding look, but Scott seemed not to have picked up on the subtext.

"I've got to head off," Percy said after a painful silence. "I probably won't see you later."

"Your funeral," Isolde said, shrugging.

Percy just shook his head and walked off.

xxx

"I've been working on my song," Gill said. For a moment, Percy thought he_ had_ to be a Wizard, sneaking up on him like that. Then he realised that Gill had stealthy abilities that could rival a good Apparition.

It took him several seconds to react, but eventually he jumped slightly, and lifted his head up from his quite riveting dinner. "Please, Gill, don't start."

"No, no, just listen," Gill pleaded. "I promise, this is the last revision."

Percy didn't respond for a few moments. "I've got to go out for a bit, I just remembered. There's something I've got to do for work."

"Aww, but Percy, it's so _cold_ out!"

Percy shrugged. "A bit of cold never did anyone any harm. Besides, I can just use a simple heating spell, and—"

"Shut up, shut up!" Gill yelled. "No magic! Mark's coming 'round tonight, you know that. And he doesn't know about and of your weird shit. So keep it on the down-low."

"Don't worry about that," Percy said, "I'm going out."

He got up, pulling on a coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck. Gill's face fell, and Percy tried to pretend that he hadn't noticed.

Percy was _so_ tired of Gill and Mark in the same room. He decided that the best thing he could possibly do was Apparate off to the Leaky Cauldron and indulge in some alcohol, something he didn't do very often. Much. On occasion. Okay, more and more frequently. Which had _nothing_ to do with Gill or Mark.

He concluded that it was the season for firewhiskey, and settled down at a table in the corner with a good bottle or two at the ready. In fact, despite his auspices of "going out to do something for work", work was the _last_ thing that Percy wanted on his mind. He just had to drink his problems away. Yes, that would be a good plan of action. Alcohol was the lazy Wizard's _Obliviate_.

However, often when one disposes of one set of problems, another comes knocking at the door with a cheery smile, saying "bloody hell, is that you?" and proceeding to sit down opposite you and ruin your evening.

Of course, we are now no longer talking about the problems that were bearing down upon Percy's mind, but a very real nuisance with a flagon of butterbeer and a Welsh accent.

"Bloody hell, is that you?"

"No," Percy mumbled into his firewhiskey, "I mean, I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not them."

"Perfect Prefect Percy Weasley?"

"Bugger off, Daffyd," Percy said, acknowledging his tormentor by name. Mistake number one.

"Ah, so you do know who I am!" Daffyd Crymruwryn said, proceeding to sit down opposite Percy and ruin his evening. "Okay, maybe you're a little blotto, but you remember my name. We shared a dorm for seven years. Remember?"

"Yes, I bloody remember," Percy snapped. "You were the bane of my life for seven years."

Daffyd laughed heartily. "That I was. I'll admit, some of it was a bit harsh. But you were a prudish tit. So technically, you deserved it."

"Technically," Percy said, "you're drunk. Quit while you're ahead."

"You aren't losing me _that_ easily!" Daffyd said with a sly smile. "I need to catch up, yeah? What's the gossip? Still boning Wood?"

Percy scowled his most Ministerial scowl. "That, Daffyd, is none of your business."

"Made a name for himself recently, hasn't he? They're calling him the Saviour of Puddlemere."

"Good for him," Percy said dispassionately. Mistake number two.

"Ah," Daffyd said, "I take it you're not seeing each other anymore."

"I told you," Percy said, "that's none of your business."

But Daffyd had this annoying habit of seeing right through people. "So you're a single man, Weasley! That's why you're here, is it? The lonely single man, alone in the Leaky. On the prowl?"

"Merlin," Percy exclaimed, "_on the prowl_? I'm just here for a _quiet_ drink, Daffyd."

"I won't hear a word of it," Daffyd said, standing up and extending a hand to Percy. "Get up, Weasley. We're going to find you a bloke by the end of the night."

"No we're not!" Percy cried, eyes widening. But despite his protestations, Daffyd grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of his seat with no mean force and dragged out of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Where are we going?" Percy asked.

"Just around the corner," Daffyd said. "A little place called the Vanishing Cabinet. It's a dirty little bar full of the scum of Wizardkind. And occassionally a good shag."

"It's not involved in the Dark Arts, is it?" Percy asked cautiously.

"Oh, no," Daffyd said, laughing, "when I say 'scum' I don't mean 'evil'. I mean 'sexually perverse'."

"Delightful," Percy mumbled.

However, the Vanishing Cabinet seemed to have one thing going for it - a charming atmosphere that belied its status as a hotbed of sexual deviance.

"Let's get some cocktails in you," Daffyd said. "Nothing says 'gay and single' like a Pink Pixie Pickle."

"I'm pretty sure that only women drink those," Percy said snippily, slightly angry at being separated from his firewhiskey. "And I'm bisexual. There's a difference."

Ignoring him, Daffyd beckoned over a barmaid. "One Pink Pixie Pickle for my _gay and single_ friend here, Johanna."

Johanna giggled. "Coming right up, Daffyd."

Percy wondered whether he was a regular. The cocktail came in front of Percy surprisingly quickly.

"If you like," Johanna said to Percy, lingering as she served his drink, "I can introduce you to my friend Hans. He's _foreign_."

She said this last word as if it somehow added to his mystique as someone who was most probably a "Wizard for Hire" (the polite euphemism for a male prostitute).

"Thanks, but I'll pass," Percy said.

"Are you sure?" she whispered coaxingly. "Hans is up for _anything_. And I mean _anything_. He'll even let you tie him up, if you're into that sort of thing."

"Really, I think I'll be alright," Percy said, now quite flustered and embarrassed. Either it was the growing heat in the Cabinet, or it was the Pink Pixie Pickle, which he had inadvertantly downed in one gulp to distract himself from Johanna's indirect advances.

"Your funeral," she said, rolling her eyes and walking off to serve someone else.

"Badly played, mate," Daffyd said. "Coulda been in with a chance there."

"I'm not your _mate_," Percy said harshly, "and I wouldn't have _wanted_ to be in with a chance there."

"But you've got to get laid by the end of tonight!" he protested. "It's our goal."

"Since when?"

"Since now."

Percy groaned. I'd rather be learning Russian with Gill and Mark banging away in the next room, he thought rather pathetically.

"In fact," he said aloud, "I'm going home."

"One drink, Percy!" Daffyd said. "You've had _one drink_! At least stay and keep me company for a few more! Maybe we'll even find you a nice bloke to sleep with."

"I don't _want_ to sleep with anyone!" he said rather too loudly, causing a few heads to turn. In fact, that was not quite true. He didn't want to sleep with anyone... except maybe Oliver Wood. But that wasn't exactly a possibility.

"I'm sorry, Daffyd," he continued, not entirely sure why he felt compelled to apologise, "but I've got to go. My flatmate will be wondering where I am."

"Your flatmate?" Daffyd asked, pursuing Percy to the door. "Male or female?"

"Male," Percy said. Mistake number three.

"Ooh," Daffyd cooed, "maybe _that's_ why you've been so reluctant to let me find you a shag. Are you shagging him?"

"Not likely," Percy said flippantly.

"So come on, stay out with me," Daffyd said coaxingly.

There was nothing else for it. As he walked out of the Vanishing Cabinet, Percy Apparated back to his and Gill's apartment, performing a little vanishing act of his own.

Percy had barely got in when he heard a cry of "CHRIST!" from the lounge room. Mark.

"Bugger me, Percy, no need to slam the door like that."

"He's a pain in the arse," Gill said, following Mark into the entrance hall with a murderous glare fixing itself upon Percy. Gill of course knew full well that Percy had just Apparated, and he wouldn't be happy about it at all.

"You're a strange one," Mark said. "Someone's bloody delivering you mail via _owl_, aren't they?"

Percy paled. "What?"

"Bloody thing was hitting its head against the window. Couldn't get my leg over with all that racket. Gill tells me your family are an odd bunch and do weird shit like that."

While he had been speaking, Mark had retrieved a hyperactive owl from the lounge. Gill stayed warily at a distance from it.

Percy untied the letter from the owl's leg and hastily let it out a window. Gill calmed visibly. As he and Mark retreated to the bedroom, he grabbed Percy and whispered threateningly in his ear.

"You're lucky Mark's too high to question any of your _weird shit_."

Percy shrugged. He was a little drunk and a little beyond caring. He unfurled the letter and began to read.

_Percy,_

_Dad's in St Mungo's. Attacked by a snake._

_Thought I should let you know. Don't know if you care._

_Fred_

"GILL!" Percy shouted, his trembling hands clinging to the letter.

"I'm going out again."

* * *

Please leave a review! Tell me what you thought! I love reading them; they make my day.

Hopefully I'll be a bit more prompt with the next chapter, HSC notwithstanding. Haha.

Until next time,

- _Legs_


	5. Back to the Old House

Really? Another update so quickly? WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO ME? The answer is my new method of writing: watching "60 Minute Makeover" late at night and sitting with my laptop. It's amazingly effective.

So here's a new chapter! Thank you to everyone who is still reading this; I know I've been terrible with my updates but if you kept the faith while this story went through limbo, then this chapter is for you. Your reviews mean the world.

I haven't named a chapter after a Smiths song in a while. You'll see why I did this time.

* * *

5. Back to the Old House

_"Percy?"_

_"Go away. I'm studying."_

_"You're boring," Fred said. "Isn't he boring, George?"_

_"He's _really_ boring," George said. "Plus, Charlie says you don't need to study until fifth year."_

_"Well, Charlie doesn't know everything," Percy said._

_"Charlie knows how to ride a broom," Fred teased._

_Percy frowned. "Would you two just leave me alone? I'm never going to get anything done at this rate."_

_"What's so important that you have to do it now?" George asked._

_"Charms homework," Percy explained. "If I don't do it, Flitwick'll make me do lines."_

_"Flitwick," Fred said, testing the word out. "I think Bill told me about him. He has a silly name."_

_"He's a very good teacher," Percy said, sniffing and turning up his nose slightly._

_The twins giggled._

_"He _is_!" he reiterated, his cheeks growing red. He turned back to his essay, hoping that maybe the twins would stop bothering him._

_No such luck._

_"But it's Christmas," Fred said, "I don't get why you're doing homework on Christmas day."_

_"It's because he's booooriiiing," George said, poking Percy's arm with a finger._

_"I'm not boring," Percy said quietly, staring at his parchment._

_"Yes you are," Fred said, "you're so boring because you don't have any friends and you don't like any of us so you do homework on Christmas day."_

_"Sounds about right," George said. "And you probably don't even have to do it. I bet it's like... working just because you want to. What do you call that?"_

_"Study," Percy said under his breath._

_"Right," Fred agreed, "and he's doing it because he doesn't have any friends."_

_"I've got friends," Percy snapped._

_This time the twins laughed loudly. "What're their names?" George asked._

_"Well," Percy said, turning away from his essay, "there's my dorm-mate Oliver, who's really good at flying, and there's Kathleen who's in Ravenclaw, but I know from Potions..."_

_"That's so funny!" Fred said. "He can't even invent more than two friends!"_

_Percy scowled and went back to his essay. Not even his own brothers believed that he could make friends. He couldn't wait 'till they came to Hogwarts - he'd show them._

xxx

There are some things which should be avoided when you're drunk. For example, it is advisable _not_ to send an owl to your ex at midnight after enough firewhiskey to please a crew of pirates for a year. It is also recommended that you don't talk about anything serious to people whose opinions matter to you - because you never know what you'll end up saying to them.

And naturally, there are certain places that one should not visit with a blood alcohol content over _tipsy_. One such place would be a crowded Muggle road, or perhaps a particularly rowdy and violent Thrashing Thestrals concert. And hospitals. You should really leave those well alone. Especially buzzing hospitals like St Mungo's, where the lobby was not so much for medical emergencies but the interchange of gossip, and your estranged father is lying in some ward, probably being operated upon, and surrounded by the rest of your estranged family who are completely sober and wouldn't appreciate a drunken paper-pusher with skewed glasses joining their party.

All of which means that Percy was a very silly boy.

And yet he was compelled forward. He was almost too dazed to Apparate as he ran out of his apartment almost as soon as he had returned, but Fred's words were ringing in his ears as though they'd been sent via Howler: _Don't know if you care_.

Percy would show them. He would show them how much he cared. He Apparated right into the lobby of St. Mungo's and pushed past several people with late-night-type injuries such as vampire bites, werewolf scratches and extra appendages that seemed funny at the time. The receptionist seemed incredibly grumpy, but even Drunk Percy had enough nouse to assert himself as a Ministry employee and a Ministry employee's son, and managed to weasle the ward number out of her.

The hospital was aflutter as usual, with people running up and down every corridor and friends and relatives looking anxious at every second corner. Time did not discriminate against St Mungo's - if anything it was more alive than ever in the dead of night.

Percy made it to the corridor on the floor in the section of the hospital where his father would be, and suddenly a strange nauseous sensation overtook him and it felt like there were Snidgets having a party in his stomach. He stumbled slightly over his own feet and found himself having to cling to a wall for support. He could _see_ the ward where his father was - he didn't have to look at the number to know that all those people crowded around fidgeting were there for Arthur Weasley.

His Gryffindor courage was failing him. Percy sometimes couldn't believe that a coward such as himself was sorted into that house. Sometimes he was optimistic and felt that one day his colours would show and he'd prove himself to be the bravest Weasley to walk the Earth, but most of the time he knew that was a pathetic thing even to be contemplating. He could never do half of the things that his brothers and sister did without breaking down as a gibbering wreck. And seeing everyone there, the noticeable red hair sticking out among the crowd, he began to think that maybe this wasn't his time to be brave. Not yet.

He slumped down against the wall, suddenly aware that he was hyperventilating. When did that happen? He was dizzy, and he wanted nothing more than to be back home listening to Gill and Mark have raucous sex in the next room, or even in the Vanishing Cabinet with Daffyd trying to palm him off to foreign Wizards for Hire with names like Hans.

And for the first time in months, he was painfully and acutely aware just how much he wanted Oliver back. Sure, he missed Oliver basically every moment of every day. But it had never stung so much. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was being in the presence of so much love and emotion.

Everything went darker, and for a moment Percy thought he was actually going to pass out, but then he realised that it was just the shadow of someone standing over him.

"You came," Fred said simply.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Percy mumbled, "I feel sick..."

"Good thing you're in a hospital," Fred sniped.

"Is he alright?" Percy asked.

Fred kneeled down so that he was eye-level with Percy. "Why do you even care?"

"He's my father too," Percy said. "Fucking Merlin, just tell me he'll be alright."

"I don't see why I should tell you anything," Fred said. "You never told us anything. And then you buggered off. Apparently your worthless excuse for a job is more important than your blood relatives."

Percy felt himself beginning to cry, but he was so beyond worrying about it. "Tell me he'll be alright."

"Why don't you go and see him for yourself?"

"I can't," Percy said, "they'll chase me away with torches and pitchforks. Everyone hates me!"

"And with good reason," Fred said, raising himself back up to his feet. "Why don't you come back when there are less people around? When you're less off your face?"

Percy nodded pathetically. "I can't do it, Fred. I want to see him. But I think I'm going to be sick."

"Bloody hell, how much have you had to drink?"

"Enough."

"Just go," Fred said, "we don't need you now, anyway. Everyone's forgotten about you. You should be thankful I even wrote you."

"Right," Percy said. He somehow managed to pull himself up and staggered away from his father's ward. He just couldn't do it. It was the most terrible of feelings, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and hide himself away from the world for the forseeable future. He wasn't even that drunk, but mixed with all the heightened emotions, the alcohol was having a stronger effect on him.

He left the hospital and Apparated to the apartment. Feeling considerate towards Mark, he decided just to Apparate into the corridor and use his key. Only that's not where he ended up. Well, he didn't exactly know where he was, but when he tried his key it didn't work, and he presumed that Gill hadn't changed the locks since he'd left. Or had he? Gill could do some pretty stupid things in the heat of the moment. Or maybe Percy had lost his keys and picked up another set somewhere along the line, or was just using the wrong key. That would be it. Yes. Either Gill was messing around with him or something silly had happened with the keys. It couldn't _not_ be his apartment - Percy was skilled at Apparating and had never once gone to the wrong place.

He knocked on the door.

It took a few moments before he heard anything, but eventually there was the sound of feet on carpet, getting louder as they approached the door.

Percy nearly fainted when Oliver opened the door. "This isn't my apartment," he said stupidly, staring straight ahead into the unfamiliar but terribly familiar room and his ex-boyfriend standing in the door. Percy had heard stories of Muggles doing something stupid when drunk and using a telephone to contact an ex. He felt an incredibly affinity with those poor souls at that moment.

"No, it isn't," Oliver said, more confused than angry. "Not anymore."

"Sorry," Percy said, "I'm a bit out of it tonight. Must have Apparated to the wrong place. Sorry..."

"Do you want to come in?" Oliver asked.

Percy raised his eyebrows. "I don't know why you're even talking to me," he said. "_I'm_ not talking to me."

"You don't look well," Oliver said, "are you sure you don't want to come in and lie down?"

Percy just shook his head. He couldn't _believe_ what he'd done.

"At least come in so we can talk," Oliver pressed. "I mean, there's probably some Freudian reason why you came here by accident. But I forgot, you're not familiar with Muggle philosophy, are you?"

"I'm sorry," Percy said. He Disapparated, this time getting his destination right and landing in the middle of his bed. He pulled his sheets right up over his face and fell straight asleep.

xxx

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Gill said brightly, sitting down on the edge of Percy's bed and sending shockwaves across the matress.

"Oh, Merlin," Percy mumbled, slowly pulling himself up to a sitting position.

"I made you breakfast!" Gill chirped, thrusting forward a tray with a plate of bacon and fried eggs and a glass of orange juice resting upon it. He was wearing a floral green apron and looked _far_ too happy. "You must have had a hectic night last night," he said. "Heck, I didn't even here you come back in!"

"You were probably asleep by then," Percy said, carefully not mentioning the fact that he did some of his "weird shit" to get home.

"Ah well," Gill said. His cheery smile faded somewhat. "Are you okay? You sounded, uh... you sounded pretty shit when you dashed off."

"Yeah," Percy said, "family issues."

"That's a bit vague," Gill said, frowning. "Elaborate."

"My... my father's been attacked. I couldn't see him. I don't know what's happening. And no-one will tell me anything. So don't ask."

Gill nodded. He knew when to stop. "Eat some bacon. Bacon makes everything better."

"I'd love to take my precious time with your breakfast," Percy said, "but I've got to get to work."

"Oh, don't worry," Gill said, "I called Isolde. She's going to tell your boss that you're ill and need the day off."

Percy sat bolt upright. "You WHAT?"

"Percy," Gill said in a patronising tone that one would take with a five-year-old, "it's almost midday."

"Shit," Percy mumbled, "how did I... how could I sleep for that long?"

Gill shrugged. "You had a tough night."

"I did something really stupid, Gill," Percy said. "I Appara- I accidentally magicked myself to our old place... where I lived with Oliver for a grand total of three weeks."

"Oh," Gill said. What else was there really to say?

"I saw him. I fucking _spoke_ to him."

"Oh."

"He tried to get me to come in... but I just Disapparated. I couldn't stay there."

"He tried to get you in, though!" Gill said positively. "That means there's hope!"

Percy shook his head. "It's hopeless. He said something about _Freudian_. I don't know what that means, but it sounds bad..."

Gill giggled. "Freudian! It is pretty Freudian, isn't it?"

"What does that _mean_?"

"It means you subconsciously _wanted_ to go there," Gill said, oversimplifying it incredibly, which really wasn't necessary because Percy would probably have been very interested in Freud had he been told all the facts.

Percy frowned. "I most certainly _didn't_."

"The point of subconscious thought," Gill said, "is that you don't know you're thinking it."

There was a pause as Percy turned that idea over in his mind. Could it be possible that he'd _subconsciously_ wanted to... well, actually it was possible. Because the more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. Everything had become too much, and the only thought left in his mind, conscious or subconscious, was that thought of Oliver that really never went away. So naturally he had Apparated to that apartment. And Oliver was still living there. It all made terrible sense in hindsight.

"I should get to work," Percy said, "even if I will be embarrassingly late."

"Trust me," Gill said, "it's worse to turn up embarrassingly late than not turn up at all."

Percy snorted. "And you'd know this _how_? When was the last time you worked in an office?"

"Never, but that's besides the point. Say I'm set to cover a wedding, and I forget it's happening - I'd rather not show than roll up in the middle of the cermony and open the doors to the chapel the moment they ask if anyone has any objections."

"Fair enough," Percy said, "I just feel so unproductive..."

"You feel guilty for doing nothing! And that's unhealthy. Sometimes you just have to say 'fuck everything' and stay in your pyjamas all day watching Corrie re-runs. And eat your bacon before it gets cold."

xxx

In the _Evening Prophet_ there was always a page devoted to grizzy medical maladies and quizzical Quidditch injuries. For Percy, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

He'd been having a perfectly good day at home with Gill. Mark hadn't come over - apparently he had some sort of job - and Gill had decided his deadlines could wait. They'd consumed far too much bacon, watched _far_ too much daytime television (Percy was still getting used to television but _damn_ it was good fun) and spent far too much time doing absolutely nothing at all.

And then he'd said "I'm just going to pop out to get the evening papers".

"Don't forget to get a normal one," Gill said.

So Percy went out, picked up the papers and came back in good time to catch some television program that Gill was desperate for him to experience. The big problem was that he read the grim news page.

And there it was, in black and white: "_Oliver Wood, reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United, is in St. Mungo's with a leg injury after falling an impressive distance from his broom. It is expected he'll be back to flying in a matter of days._"

It was such small print, too, that Percy was surprised he'd even noticed it. It was the page of the newspaper to which he always payed the least attention.

Perhaps it was one of those "Freudian" things.

Wordlessly he showed Gill, and Gill reacted rather more explosively than Percy had. "HOLY FUCK! I've always told you; that shit is dangerous!"

Percy sighed. "It's all my fault, isn't it? It's because I showed up at his door!"

"Oh god, again with the self-blame," Gill said. "It's Oliver's own bloody fault for getting involved in your stupid broom things."

"I should go and see him," Percy said, a surge of courage overtaking him. "It's the least I can do to apologise."

"Maybe go in the morning," Gill said. "And maybe you can see your father while you're there!"

"Maybe," Percy agreed. "I should also apologise to him."

"You can kill two birds with one stone," Gill said. "It'll be healthy for you."

"I guess it will," Percy said. He grinned. "Okay, Gill, I'm going to do it. After work tomorrow, I'm going to St Mungo's!"

* * *

Whoa Percy slow down there! Those are strong words. Will he go? Or will he chicken out? You'll have to wait and see. To make the waiting period a bit more bearable, why don't you leave a review? I guarantee you a reply.

I'm on a bit of a roll with this fic now and my exams have just finished. WHO KNOWS when I'll next update? Until next time...

- _Legs_


	6. Words Left Unspoken

Hot damn guys, I'm on a roll. It didn't take me long at all to write this chapter. (Is it because I have exams soon?) Thank you SO much to **everyone** who's been taking the time to read and review even though I'm a shitty updater. Superduperspecial thanks for **passionate4pens94** who's been around since near the beginning of RBS and is still reviewing like a boss, and **azncyborg** for that beautiful message of encouragement. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Oh, and a teeny warning... this chapter gets a little smutty. But you love it. ;D

* * *

6. Words Left Unspoken

_"Is he alright?" Jack asked, pushing past Percy to the front of the stalls. Percy tried to replay what had just happened in his head. It had been Oliver's first match, and they were just ahead, and then out of nowhere the Bludger had come, striking him right in the head and causing him to topple off his broom, spiralling to the ground in a mess of limbs and robes._

_"Merlin, you guys, I think he's _dead_!" Daffyd said, eyes bulging._

_"Don't be stupid," Percy said with a frown, "of course he isn't dead. Look, Madame Pomfrey is helping him up now."_

_"We'll have lost the game for sure," Daffyd groaned._

_"Don't you care that Oliver's hurt?" Percy asked angrily._

_"He'd care more about the game too," Thom said with a shrug._

_The three of them dashed out of the stalls to follow Oliver to the Hospital Wing, and Percy followed at a distance, lagging behind deliberately._

_By the time he made it to the Hospital Wing it seemed like the whole of the Gryffindor team (and then some) had amassed at Oliver's bedside. Oliver was evidently fine - they were all laughing and talking, but Madame Pomfrey was close by, keeping an eagle-eyed watch to ensure that no-one misbehaved. Percy figured he might as well go in and offer his sympathies. He gingerly walked in, and the chatter got louder. Suddenly his ears were ringing and the ground began to spin. It was so noisy, and he felt as though he belonged in one of the beds as a patient, not as a guest. No-one had noticed him, and he turned on his heel and sprinted back to the Gryffindor tower. His dorm was empty, and he buried his head in his pillow and closed his eyes._

_He must have fallen asleep, because it seemed like a matter of seconds from his lying down to Jack, Daffyd and Thom returning to the dorm. Percy pulled himself upright to greet them._

_"How's Oliver?"_

_"He'll survive," Daffyd said with a shrug._

_"You should go and see him," Jack suggested with an encouraging smile._

_Percy nodded. "I suppose I should." It would be emptier now. He didn't know why he'd felt so ill before, but the feeling had passed and now all he wanted to do was talk to Oliver._

_The Hospital Wing was empty but for Oliver, who had propped himself up and was paging through a book._

_"What are you reading?" Percy asked, pulling up a chair at his bedside._

_Oliver's face broke into a large grin when he saw Percy arrive. "_Quidditch Throughout the Ages_," he said, "for the fiftieth time."_

_"You should read something else occasionally," Percy said, "who knows - you might actually learn something."_

_"What, like a _textbook_?" Oliver scoffed. Clearly the very idea was preposterous._

_Percy seemed to miss his point entirely. "Absolutely!" he said. "Anyway, how are you feeling? That looked awfully painful."_

_Oliver laughed. "Yeah, it hurt like hell," he said, unconsciously rubbing his forehead, "_and_ we lost. I can't believe myself!"_

_Percy rolled his eyes. "It was your first game, Oliver. You'll get better."_

_"I'm already the best there is," Oliver said proudly. "I just need to work on not getting so distracted."_

_"What distracted you?" Percy asked._

_Oliver shrugged. "I dunno. I was just thinking, I guess."_

xxx

"Get up, you lazy sod!" Gill shouted gleefully, barging into Percy's bedroom at some ungodly hour. "Do you know what day it is today?"

Percy rubbed his eyes and flung his hand out, grabbing at objects on his bedside table before locating his glasses and putting them on haphazardly. He was so tired of Gill being his morning rooster. "No, Gill," he said in a pained voice, "all I know is that it's still dark outside and you've just woken me up. So this better be good. What day is it today?"

"It's the day that Percy Weasley grows a pair of balls and confronts the skeletons in his closet."

Percy eyed the wardrobe in his room warily, before realising that Gill was speaking metaphorically. Merlin, it was _far_ too early for metaphors. "Oliver always used to tell me to grow a pair of balls," he said, sounding a bit like a whiny child who hadn't got his sweets.

Gill grinned. "Good, good, you're thinking about him again. Now off you trot. If you go to the Weird Shit Hospital _now_, then you can make it to work later."

Percy groaned. "No-one will be awake yet, you numbskull. I can go after work."

"So you're not going to chicken out, then? Because that would be _such_ a let-down."

"No, I'm going to go," Percy said boldly, sitting up straighter and smoothing down his hair. "At the very least, I have to see my father."

"Oliver's your number one priority, though," Gill said, activating business-mode. "You're estranged from your family. It's tough to patch up serious shit like that. But Oliver's clearly the love of your life, and the two of you are destined to be together sort of like Romeo and Juliet... except without all the suicide..." He frowned. "Okay, bad analogy. But the point is, _this is your chance_!"

Percy nodded. "One step at a time."

"Exactly! Step one: get out of bed. Step two: eat breakfast. Step three: get ready and go to work. Step four: locate target and acquire."

"Can't I just sleep a bit mo-"

"Nope! Up you get. Come on!"

After being put through Gill's strict morning regime, Percy forced himself out the door and off to work. He would have to confront the fact that he'd taken a day - a whole day! - off work. And what had he done? Nothing. What could he tell Fudge? "Sorry, Minister, I was watching television all day instead of being here and doing my highly important job. How can I ever make it up to you?"

He made it to the Ministry relatively quickly, but he couldn't take his mind off his own negligence and the two people lying in beds at St. Mungo's who he cared about more than he could tell them. Scott greeted him the lift.

"Morning, Weatherby. Didn't see you around yesterday..."

"I was ill," Percy said simply.

"You look it," Scott said, sounding as though he'd just discovered something highly interesting. "You're pale as a sheet. So hopefully Fudge won't think you just took a day off to relax from your highly stressful job."

Percy glared at him. "What would make you think that?"

Scott smirked. "I'm not stupid. I know your flatmate is Isolde's brother - and I also know that she was the one who delivered the news that'd you were sick."

"She's also my _colleague_," Percy pointed out, "so isn't it only natural that I'd owl her if I were sick?"

Scott shrugged. "Not my problem."

The lift jerked to a holt and Scott got down, still smirking that stupid smirk at Percy. Percy glared harshly after him. He would get through the day - all he had to do was make it to five-thirty and then he could go to the hospital and sort out all of his issues. Make peace with Oliver, apologise to his father. In theory, it was really rather easy.

Although there is that Muggle saying - "easier said than done"...

But no. Percy willed himself to stop thinking about it. Taking one's mind off the job was a dangerous occupation.

The lift reached his level and he got out proudly, striding towards his desk.

"Morning, Percy," Isolde said, getting up to greet him. "How was the hangover?" she asked in a whisper.

Percy frowned at her. "None of your business," he said, stiffening his posture and sniffing indignantly.

"Not to worry," she said with a laugh, "Gill told me everything."

"Of course he did," he said, completely deadpan.

Isolde moved closer and spoke quietly. "Hey... we're having one of our... one of our _meetings_ after work today. Will you be there?"

He shook his head. "On any other day I might have acquiesced, but I happen to be otherwise engaged this afternoon."

"Oh? Do tell," she said, wiggling her eyebrows stupidly.

"If you must know, I'm going to St. Mungo's."

"Ah, yes. I did hear about your father."

Percy nodded solemnly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to work."

"Of course, of course!" Isolde said, imitating his pompous air and bustling back to her own desk. "Don't let me disturb you!"

xxx

This time when Percy visited St. Mungo's, he was less nervous and most definitely not drunk. Perhaps there was some sort of correlation there.

But last time, getting in had been easy. He had told them he was there to see his father, and they'd very readily given him the ward number. So now if he wanted to see Oliver he would have to employ a few little acts of trickery. He doubted they'd let strangers in to see famous Quidditch players.

So after getting a visitor's pass to see his father he left the lobby, but instead of heading towards his father's ward, he walked in the exact opposite direction until he found a secluded corridor. And there, using a bit of nifty spell-work he changed a few details on the pass: "Arthur Weasley" became "Oliver Wood", and the ward number was obliterated. Really, it was too easy. You'd think that St. Mungo's would be more careful. But was he ever glad they weren't.

He slipped back into a crowded corridor and walked straight ahead until he found a nurse nearby, at which point he inspected his pass and let out a loud noise of disgruntlement. He looked around for a few moments, acting confused, before flagging down the nurse.

"Excuse me!"

"Yes?"

"I'm so sorry," he began, "this is going to sound incredibly silly, but I don't think the receptionist wrote down the ward number for me..."

He held up the pass to the nurse, and she giggled. "Oliver Wood? Are you a friend of his?"

"Yes," Percy said simply as she giggled over the pass a bit more.

"He's cute," she said. "D'you think you could get me an autograph?"

He shrugged. "I'll see what I can do."

"Great!" she said, grinning. "My name's Blossom Penhale. You can come and find me once you've got it. He's got a private room, let me write it down for you so they let you in..."

She pulled a quill out from behind her ear and scratched out the ward number on the pass. Percy thanked her profusely and as he headed off for the staircase, and she winked at him. "Don't forget my autograph!"

Of course, Percy had absolutely no intention of getting an autograph for this girl. His sole purpose now was to find Oliver and make everything just how it used to be.

He located the ward with ease. It was in a private block of the hospital, guarded by a short Wizard in sky-blue robes with a clipboard. Percy flashed him the pass, and the guard let him through with a look of mild awe.

Oliver's room was right near the back. He was evidently being given a lot of special treatment for a simple leg injury. But with all the press surrounding his rather extraordinary skills as a Keeper, Percy supposed they had their reasons.

He stood at the door for a few moments, just staring at it and wondering what to say. He would knock, and Oliver would open it, giving him a look of pure disgust. And Percy would start babbling and somewhere in his stream of words there would be an apology, and Oliver would manage to find that apology and fish it out, because he was Oliver, and although they hadn't spoken for a considerable amount of time, he still knew Percy better than anyone. And then they would make amends and agree to tentatively become friends again, and then hopefully that would lead to something more. Percy barely dared to hope for the most positive outcome.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

"Just a second," came Oliver's voice, "and don't tell me you'll open the door yourself, because I have to get used to walking, and there's not a damn lot of space for it in here."

As he spoke, Percy heard the clunk of a cast every second step, and focused almost entirely on that noise.

When Oliver opened the door, Percy was in more of a fit state to appreciate him in his full glory than he had been at their last encounter. All the Quidditch was obviously good for him - he looked stronger than he ever had, despite one leg being in a cast. His jaw dropped as he looked on at Percy. "I... uh... wow. Hello again."

"Hello," Percy said, smiling a bit pathetically.

"Come in," Oliver said, evidently still taken a bit off-guard. He held the door open and Percy walked in.

His voice seemed to have stopped working.

Which was probably a good thing, because the moment he closed the door Oliver backed Percy up against the wall with more force than was probably necessary and kissed him with less tongue than Percy would have liked, but he'd cope.

It most certainly was _not_ what he expected, but that really didn't make it any less enjoyable.

Percy had missed this. Not just the kissing, but everything about Oliver. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and his hands knew their way – one to the back of his head, entangling themselves in his hair, and the other onto his shoulder. They pressed close together and were clinging to each other as though they might otherwise fall off the edge of some metaphorical cliff. For a few moments Percy was back and Hogwarts, back in his dorm or back in his office, or even back in his bedroom with nothing visible but mistletoe, and he was quite sure that he was the happiest person alive.

And then he was shaken from his reverie by the alarming yet not unpleasant fact that his jacket and shirt buttons were very quickly being undone.

Oliver meant business.

"We should relocate," Percy said pulling away briefly. "I'm sure this is most uncomfortable for you."

Oliver shrugged, one of his hands snaking down to Percy's backside. "Here is fine. Plus, that bed is like a rock. I haven't slept so poorly since the good old days when the two of us would do anything _but_ sleep at night."

Percy laughed. "Very well, then."

And then as though by some unspoken consensus, they kissed again, and it was more passionate than the last, and more all-consuming, but less like an out-of-body experience. This time Percy was completely and utterly aware of his surroundings. He was in a private room in St. Mungo's, doing incredibly private things, and it was _amazing_.

Once Percy's shirt had been dealt with, Oliver wasted no time in pulling his off over his head, and Percy shivered at that feeling of skin against skin. It had been far too long. As their tongues returned to explore almost-forgotten territory, Oliver slid his hand down the front of Percy's trousers and under his pants. Percy gasped into Oliver's mouth, and he swiftly pulled his wand out of his pocket, cast a silencing spell, and put it back away. Oliver's hand was now firmly grasped around Percy's gradually increasing erection, and moving up and down in quick but deliberate actions. Percy found that after so long without all of this he couldn't hold himself back, and he steadied himself against the wall before undoing Oliver's fly and proceeding to grab hold of his similarly-raised member.

"Fuuuuuuck," Oliver moaned, pulling away from Percy's mouth and grinning broadly. "You have... no idea... I've missed this..."

"Me too," Percy said, and nothing else really needed to be said, because all the unspoken words and apologies were implicit in the remarkable feat of heavy petting up against a wall with one participant's leg in a cast.

They kissed messily throughout the duration, and once both of them were spent, Oliver retreaded clunkily to his bed and sat down to tidy himself up. Percy did similarly, and then went to sit down next to Oliver.

"We should do this again sometime," Oliver said with a mischievous grin. "Do you come here often, stranger?"

Percy laughed. "I get out when I can."

"Well you know where I live," Oliver said. "You certainly had no trouble getting there the other night. So whenever you want, whenever you have time... just come over. We can talk. Or we can do _this_ again."

"Either is fine by me," Percy said, leaning over and kissing Oliver softly on the lips. He then got up to leave.

"See you 'round, then," Oliver said, smiling contentedly.

"Oh, you will," Percy said as he slipped out the door. He stood in the corridor for a moment, feeling incredibly proud of himself. He then left the private wing, thanked the guard, and made his way to the ward where his father would be.

Cautiously he pushed open the door, and he saw his father lying there in a bed, reading a newspaper. There was no-one there with him, but he didn't notice Percy enter. He took a step forward, every inch of his skin covered in goosebumps. He was meant to be focusing on his father, he knew that, but all he could think about was Oliver.

Oliver.

Oliver.

Oliver.

And then everything went black, and as he grabbed the rails of a nearby bed the last sound he heard before he passed out was someone shouting his name.

* * *

GUYS MAKE MY DAY. Leave a **review**! I guarantee you a reply.

And seeing as I'm so in the writing mood now, maybe I'll update quickly.

We can only hope.

Until next time,

- _Legs_


	7. Worrying

Hmm, so this one is a little shorter than I would have liked. But I'm fairly pleased with it. And I know a few of you were left hanging after that last chapter, so this is for everyone who wanted to know what happened!

But first you'll have to wade through the compulsory flashback...

* * *

7. Worrying

_"Hey Ange..."_

_Angelina looked up from her textbook only to see Oliver Wood standing over her grinning stupidly. "What is it?" she asked. Despite their almost-two-year age difference, they were great friends, but she sometimes found him a bit tiresome, considering that he only ever spoke about Quidditch and she was trying to write a Potions essay._

_"Guess what?" he asked, sitting on the arm of her chair._

_She sighed dramatically, putting her essay aside with a roll of the eyes. "What?"_

_"I'm Quidditch Captain next year!" he shouted, flinging his hands in the air and attracting the attention of a few other people in the common room._

_She clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations! I told you you'd get it, didn't I?"_

_"You did," he agreed. "And I did! I'm Captain! Brilliant, right?"_

_"Brilliant," she echoed. "So, uh, is that it? Or can I go back to my essay?"_

_"Actually, there is something else," he said more quietly. "Can I trust you to keep a secret? Only, it's just that I don't think there's really anyone else I can tell this."_

_She laughed nervously. "Surely it can't be something that you can't tell Jack or one of the others?"_

_He shook his head solemnly. "I think I need to tell a girl, and you're my best female friend."_

_She nodded. "Okay, I swear myself to secrecy. What is it?"_

_"I think I'm bisexual," he said in a whisper. "I mean, I think I fancy girls _and_ boys."_

_Angelina understood perfectly why he felt he couldn't tell any of his male friends - they would probably just laugh. She'd heard stories about bisexual boys, even _gay_ boys, and apparently other boys didn't take to kindly to it. But she couldn't see anything wrong with it. "Why do you think so?" she asked._

_"Well," he began nervously, "I've been thinking about it for a while, whether I'm bi or not. I mean, I've always had little crushes on girls, but they've never been anything big and I've never considered doing anything about them. And... now I think I've got a crush on a boy. And I think it's big."_

_Her eyes widened. "Tell me more!"_

_"I kissed Percy," he said, barely audible. "Just now, when McGonagall told me about becoming Captain. He was there, and I kissed him. Shit, Ange, I think I might fancy him!"_

_She snorted. "Really, Ol'? If you're going to be bi, you can do a lot better than him!"_

_Oliver frowned. "He's my best friend. I'd go crazy without him."_

_"Well, to each their own," she mumbled. "Do you feel better? I mean... my mum always that if there's something in your mind you feel better when you get it off your chest."_

_"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I feel a bit better. Thanks for letting me talk to you!"_

_"Any time," she said. "I feel that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."_

_"I'm hurt! Are we not already friends?"_

_"Of course we are," she said. "Now, if you don't mind... this essay is due tomorrow!"_

_"Of course, of course," he said, getting up. "But stay there, just in case I have another crisis and I need to talk to you again."_

xxx

Percy was worrying.

It was an annoying habit that he'd first got into when he was six years old. His parents were in a ward at St. Mungo's, awaiting the birth of their seventh child, and Percy was waiting in the corridor minding the twins and Ron. Bill was at Hogwarts, and Charlie had run off with some other kids to play cards. So Percy was in charge. And he was worried. He worried that the twins would do something silly, because even though they were only tiny, they were wont to do incredibly silly things whenever an opportunity arose. And Ron was so young, and so nervous, and Percy was worried that he'd crawl away if he stopped paying attention. There were so many things that demanded his minimal six-year-old attention span, and he worried that he would do something wrong.

And in many ways, he hadn't stopped worrying since that day. He worried when he first went to Hogwarts. He worried about being sorted. He worried about whether or not his peers would like him. He worried about homework and he worried about exams. He worried about Penelope fancying him. He worried about Oliver fancying him. He worried about falling head-over-heels in love. He worried about getting a job, and he worried constantly about doing it poorly. He worried about keeping his relationship strong, and he worried even more when it fell apart. He worried about leaving his family. He worried about whether or not he should visit Oliver in hospital, but he was glad he did.

He worried when he awoke in a chilly hospital bed and he worried that he hadn't gotten a chance to apologise to his father.

And that hurt more than anything else.

"Percy! You're awake!"

Isolde bounced up from his bedside, brandishing a bunch of gerberas in his face. "I came as soon as I heard you'd blacked out in St. Mungo's. They owled the Ministry."

"Who did?"

"I don't know, a nurse or something. Anyway, I told Gill. Obviously he's stressing out because he's a Muggle, so they won't let him in here. But he wants to see you. He worries."

"I worry too," Percy mumbled. "How long have I been out?"

"Not long," she said. "Only about a day. You were in quite the coma. Pulled a Penny on us."

"Penny!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. "Oh, Merlin, I haven't written to her in weeks. She must _hate_ me."

"Relax," Isolde said, "she'll be home for Christmas, won't she?"

"I presume so."

"So? You can owl her! It's only a few days until Christmas."

"Of course," Percy said. "I will."

"You'll have to wait until they let you leave. I'm afraid you're under observation for a bit."

He sighed. "Well, I suppose I should make the most of it. I... uh... I didn't get a chance to visit my father. Do you think he'll still be here?"

Isolde smiled sadly. "Your father's still here. And he's fine. But..."

"But?"

"He doesn't want to see you."

Percy could practically feel all of the colour draining out of his skin. "Why?"

"Well, he saw you coming to see him. He saw you passing out. I probably shouldn't have - I've never met the man in my life - but I went to see him. He said... well, I won't repeat it to you. You don't want to hear it."

He glowered at her. "I think I do."

"He just doesn't want to see you, okay?" she snapped, blushing.

_That means it must have been bad_, Percy thought. He couldn't believe that his whole childhood, all those years of trying to live up to his father's standard, had led to this estrangement. But at least there was Oliver...

"Oliver! Is he still here?"

"Ah, so you went to see him then, did you?" She grinned suggestively. "Gill told me that you'd gone to sort things out."

Percy blushed. "Something like that, yeah."

"Ooh, that sounds promising..."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it's all going to work out."

"Good."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments. Isolde fiddled awkwardly with the paper around the gerberas. After a few moments, a nurse entered the ward, scribbling on a clipboard. As soon as Percy saw who she was, he groaned. "Oh, _no_..."

"You!" she screeched, looking up from her clipboard and dashing over to his bed. "Did you get his autograph for me?"

Percy had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. Isolde, meanwhile, very clearly had no decency whatsoever, and was barely concealing her laughter.

"And who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Blossom Penhale, and this guy promised he'd get me Oliver Wood's autograph!"

"And did you?" Isolde pointedly asked Percy.

He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. It completely slipped my mind."

Blossom glowered at him. "I thought you were his friend!"

"I am, I am," Percy said hastily. "We, uh... we got caught up in a conversation. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry," Isolde said, "he'll get it for you some other time, I'm sure of it. _Won't you_, Percy?"

Percy nodded. "Absolutely. I definitely will," he lied.

Blossom's face brightened. "Great! You can drop by St. Mungo's any time, and ask for me. I can't wait!"

"Great," Percy echoed, sounding much less enthusiastic. "So, uh, are you one of the nurses for this ward?"

"Sure am," Blossom said. "And what brings _you_ here?"

"I passed out," he said. "It's a long story. The point is, can I... can I just leave?"

She looked at him like he was insane. "Of course you can't! I've got to run some checks on you just to see that everything's in working order before you can go. I'm afraid that means you'll have to leave us," she added to Isolde.

"No problem," she said, placing the gerberas on the bedside table as she stood up. "I'll pop by for dinner later, okay? Tell Gill to get Indian."

"Right," Percy said. "See you later."

She waved goodbye as she left the ward, and Blossom picked up his patient record. "Right, Mr. Weasley. Let's get down to business."

xxx

It was almost six by the time Percy was allowed to leave St. Mungo's, and he only made it home at quarter to seven. He was utterly _mortified_ that he'd missed another day of work. Pathetic.

Gill, however, had a completely different take on the matter. "Another day off work, you lucky fucker!"

Percy rolled his eyes. "I'm choosing to ignore that comment. Now, Isolde said she's coming over for dinner and she wants you to get Indian."

"That can wait a few minutes," Gill said. "First I need to hear how everything went."

"I'm fine," Percy said. "I just passed out - no damage done."

"No, you dolt! How did it go with _Oliver_?"

"Oh, er... it went well."

"Meaning?"

"I think we're back together," Percy said. It felt so odd to articulate it. The whole idea was verging on too-good-to-be-true - there had to be a catch. And yet it seemed not. But they hadn't said anything, and nothing had been formalised. Obviously there couldn't be a return to the excessively sexually active levels that had defined their relationship whilst at Hogwarts, not while Percy was still working as hard as he was, and with Oliver's Quidditch career. But they could make it work. He knew they would.

Gill clapped Percy on the back. "Nice going! And your father?"

"Don't ask."

"Ah." Gill went to sift through his change jar to scrape together enough for Indian. "So, uh, now that you're back with Oliver, does that mean that you'll be moving back in with him?"

"I don't know," Percy said. Honestly, he hadn't even thought that far.

"'Cause I kinda like having you around," Gill mumbled.

Percy smiled despite himself. "Yeah, I like it here. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere fast."

"Yeah," Gill said, "you don't want to rush things with Oliver, you know? Take it slow, don't let anything get out of hand. For now, let's walk up the road and get Indian before my sister shows up."

"Sounds like a plan."

xxx

In a remarkable act of good timing, Isolde arrived at their apartment almost as soon as they'd got back from the Indian diner down the road accompanied by two plastic bags bursting with curry and pappadams.

"Ah, good," she said as Gill laid the food out across the coffee table. "Just what I felt like."

"It _was_ your request," Percy pointed out. She grinned at him, as though saying "have you got a problem with that?", and sprawled herself across the couch.

"So where's _Mark_ tonight?" she asked.

"Letting me work in peace, no doubt," Percy joked.

Gill flipped them both off, his mouth full of curry. "Ffffk yih gsss," he mumbled.

"No, no," Isolde said, "I like Mark. I really do. He's just so-"

"Noisy," Percy completed. "I can't get anything done when he's around."

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuu," Gill said, his mouth now mostly empty, markedly drawing out each word.

"At least I make no secret of my disapproval," Percy said. "My father, now, I could _tell_ he disapproved of me and Oliver, but-"

He stopped himself from saying anything more.

"Let's not talk about the past," Isolde said quietly.

"You don't need parental approval anymore, Percy," Gill said. "You're a free man. You can shag whomever the fuck you want."

Percy nodded. "I know, I know, it's just that-"

"Let's put on some telly," Isolde interjected. "Is Emmerdale on, or... ?"

She flicked on the television and Percy sat back with a plate loaded with beef vindaloo, letting himself relax in the oddly comforting glow of petty personal issues.

After they'd finished eating, Isolde excused herself, saying that she and her little group that were never mentioned or named were meeting at a nearby Muggle joint. Gill locked himself away with his guitar, writing a song about how no-one acknowledged his love for Mark. And so Percy was thankfully left to his own devices. He did a bit of revision of Russian, seeing as he hadn't touched his books in a few days, but he wasn't really getting as involved in it as he ought to be.

He shrugged to himself, feeling like he should make excuses even though there was no-one moitoring his work. He pulled out some spare parchment and scribbled a letter to Penny, which he would send off the next day when he could get to Hermes at the Ministry Owlery.

And then he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling. White paint, peeling a bit, an interesting cornice. A cobweb or two. It was plain. His whole room was plain. He still hadn't unpacked all his books, which lay in the corner in a bigger-on-the-inside chest that was outwardly around the size of Gill's television.

Without fully thinking over his actions, Percy's subconscious got bored of his plain room and stood up, picked up his wand and Apparated to St. Mungo's. Percy followed dutifully.

His subconscious and conscious now one again, he asked at the front desk for a pass to see Oliver Wood, which was of course denied.

"But I'm his friend!" Percy protested. The receptionist just glowered at him. "You, uh... you can ask Blossom Penhale. She's one of your nurses. She knows me."

The receptionist glowered a bit more, before disappearing to activate some sort of paging system, presumably using a Protean charm. Within moments Blossom was bustling up to the front desk.

"Ah, Weasley, are you here to see Oliver Wood?"

"I am indeed," Percy said proudly, shooting a "see-I-told-you-so" look at the receptionist.

"Right, then," she said. "And don't forget that autograph, will you?"

"I won't," he said.

As it happened, Percy _did_ forget about the autograph for Blossom. He was too busy catching up for lost time. After Oliver had told him that he'd be out in a day's time, Percy spent the rest of the night being shagged by an injured Quidditch player, which was harder to engineer than it seemed, especially on a painfully hard hospital bed. But it worked. And that was the thing - they didn't need to speak about it, because even though there was so much bad sentiment hanging over them, they still _worked_.

And Oliver had a tube of lube hidden under his pillow, which helped.

* * *

Leave a **review**! I guarantee you a reply, even though it's about a month until the HSC and I really ought to study. 7 weeks until I have all the time in the world to write. I promise I will give this story more love - although those of you who are eagerly awaiting for the next chapter of _Sex, Communism and Other Subversive Activities_ will have to wait a bit longer. I've got a fic for a fest on LiveJournal due in on the 31st of October. When it's done I'll put it up here!

Until next time,

- _Legs_


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